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o  THE  usiAftY  or  o 

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LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


MR.    &  MRS.    R.U.    VAUGHN 


THOUGHTS 
FROM  MAETERLINCK 


By  the  Same  Author: 

THE  TREASURE  OF  THE  HUMBLE.  Trans- 
lated by  ALFRED  SUTRO.  I2mo.  $1.75. 

WISDOM  AND  DESTINY.  Translated  by 
ALFRED  SUTRO.  12010.  $1.75. 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE.  Translated  by 
ALFRED  SUTRO.  iamo.  $1.40  net, 

SISTER  BEATRICE  AND  ARDIANE  AND 
BARBE  BLEUE.  Translated  by  BERNARD 
MIALL.  i2mo.  $1.20  net. 

THE  BURIED  TEMPLE.  Translated  by  ALFRED 
SUTRO.  lamo.  $1.40  net. 

THOUGHTS  FROM  MAETERLINCK.  Arranged 
by  E.  S.  S.  i2tno.  $1.20  net. 

THE  DOUBLE  GARDEN.  Translated  by 
ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS.  ismo. 
$1.40  net. 

JOYZELLE  AND  MONNA  VANNA.  Trans- 
lated by  ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS  and 
ALFRED  SUTRO.  I2mo.  $1.40  net. 

THE  MEASURE  OF  THE  HOURS.  Translated 
by  ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS.  i2mo. 
$i  .40  net. 


Thoughts 
From    Maeterlinck 


Chosen  and  Arranged 
by 

E.  S.  S. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,    MEAD   AND   COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright,  i&)&,  IQOI,  tqoz,  1903, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

First  Edition  published  May, 


.. 

SANTA  BARJARA  COLLEGE  LIBRAJ 


PAGE 

I.  THE  INNER  LIFE    ....  3 

II.  HAPPINESS 43 

III.  JUSTICE 57 

IV.  MORALITY 77 

V.  SILENCE 93 

VI.  DESTINY  AND  FATALITY   .   .  .  107 

VII.  WISDOM  AND  REASON    .     .     .  117 

VIII.  DUTY  AND  SELF-SACRIFICE     .  129 

IX.  BEAUTY 137 

X.  LOVE 145 

XI.  WOMEN 157 

XII.  THE  PAST 169 

XIII.  THE  FUTURE      .     .     .     .     .  185 

XIV.  THE  SAGE 191 

XV.  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE     .     .  197 

XVI.  LITERATURE 239 

XVII.  DRAMA 247 


I 

THE    INNER    LIFE 


Thoughts 
from  Maeterlinck 


THE    INNER    LIFE 

IT  is  only  by  the  communications  we  have 
with  the  infinite  that  we  are  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  each  other. — The  Treas- 
ure of  the  Humble. 

2.  Our  veritable  birth  dates  from  the 
day  when,  for  the  first  time,  we  feel  at  the 
deepest  of  us  that  there  is  something  grave 
and  unexpected  in  life. — The  Treasure  of 
the  Humble. 

3.  In  the  course  of  every  friendship  of 
some  duration,  there  comes  to  us  a  myste- 
rious moment  when  we  seem  to  perceive  the 
exact  relationship  of  our  friend  to  the  un- 
known that  surrounds  him,  when  we  dis- 

3 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

cover  the  attitude  destiny  has  assumed 
towards  him.  And  it  is  from  this  moment 
that  he  truly  belongs  to  us. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

4.  The  greatness  of  our  life  depends  on 
so  little !  In  the  midst  of  the  hundred  inci- 
dents of  ordinary  days,  the  verse  of  a  poet 
may  suddenly  reveal  something  stupendous 
to  us.  No  solemn  word  has  been  pro- 
nounced, and  we  feel  that  nothing  has  been 
called  forth;  and  yet,  why  has  an  ineffable 
face  beckoned  to  us  from  behind  an  old 
man's  tears ;  why  does  a  vast  night,  starred 
with  angels,  extend  over  the  smile  of  a 
child ;  and  why,  around  a  yes  or  a  no,  mur- 
mured by  a  soul  that  sings  and  busies  itself 
with  other  matters,  do  we  suddenly  hold 
our  breath  for  an  instant  and  say  to  our- 
selves, '  Here  is  the  house  of  God,  and  this 
one  of  the  approaches  to  Heaven  '  ? — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

5.  You  seek  God  in  your  life,  and  you 

4 


The  Inner  Life 

say  God  appears  not.  But  in  what  life  are 
there  not  thousands  of  hours  akin  to  the 
hour  in  that  drama  where  all  are  waiting 
for  the  divine  intervention,  and  none  per- 
ceive it,  till  an  invisible  thought  that  has 
flitted  across  the  consciousness  of  a  dying 
man  suddenly  reveals  itself,  and  an  old  man 
cries  out,  sobbing  for  joy  and  terror,  '  But 
God,  there  is  God! ' — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

6.  To    every    man    there    come    noble 
thoughts  that   pass   across  his  heart  like 
great  white  birds. — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

7.  Never  do  we  belong  more  completely 
to  ourselves  than  on  the  morrow  of  an  ir- 
reparable catastrophe.     It  seems,  then,  as 
though  we  had  found  ourselves  again,  as 
though  we  had  won  back  a  part  of  ourselves 
that   was   necessary   and   unknown. — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

8.  Which  of  us,  when  by  the  side  of  the 

5 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

most  ordinary  person  perhaps,  but  has  sud- 
denly become  conscious  of  the  advent  of 
something  that  none  had  summoned  ?  Was 
it  the  soul,  or  perhaps  life,  that  had  turned 
within  itself  like  a  sleeper  on  the  point  of 
awakening?  I  know  not;  nor  did  you 
know,  and  no  one  spoke  of  it;  but  we  did 
not  separate  from  each  other  as  though 
nothing  had  happened. — The  Treasure  of 
the  Humble. 

9.  What  would  result  were  our  soul  sud- 
denly to  take  visible  shape,  and  be  com- 
pelled to  advance  into  the  midst  of  her 
assembled  sisters,  stripped  of  all  her  veils, 
but  laden  with  her  most  secret  thoughts, 
and  dragging  behind  her  the  most  myste- 
rious, inexplicable  acts  of  her  life?  Of  what 
would  she  be  ashamed?  Which  are  the 
things  she  fain  would  hide?  Would  she, 
like  a  bashful  maiden,  cloak  beneath  her 
long  hair  numberless  sins  of  the  flesh  ?  She 
knows  not  of  them,  and  those  sins  have 
6 


The  Inner  Life 

never  come  near  her.  They  were  committed 
a  thousand  miles  from  her  throne ;  and  the 
soul  even  of  the  prostitute  would  pass  un- 
suspectingly through  the  crowd,  with  the 
transparent  smile  of  the  child  in  her  eyes. 
She  has  not  interfered;  she  was  living  her 
life  where  the  light  fell  on  her,  and  it  is  this 
life  only  that  she  can  recall. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

10.  How  strangely  do  we  diminish  a 
thing  as  soon  as  we  try  to  express  it  in 
words!  We  are  conscious  of  having  dived 
to  the  most  unfathomable  depths;  and  yet, 
when  we  reappear  on  the  surface,  the  drop 
of  water  that  glistens  on  our  trembling 
fingertips  no  longer  resembles  the  sea  from 
which  it  came.  We  believe  we  have  discov- 
ered a  grotto  that  is  stored  with  bewilder- 
ing treasure;  we  come  back  to  the  light  of 
day,  and  the  gems  we  have  brought  are 
false — mere  pieces  of  glass — and  yet  does 
7 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 
the  treasure  shine  on,  unceasingly,  in  the 
darkness! — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

11.  Something   there   is   that   we   hide 
from  most  men,  and  we  ourselves  are  ig- 
norant of  what  this  thing  may  be.   Strange 
secrets  of  life  and  death  pass  between  two 
creatures  who  meet  for  the  first  time;  and 
many  other  secrets  besides,  nameless  to  this 
day,  that  yet  at  once  thrust  their  impress 
upon  our  being,  our  features,  the  look  of 
our  eyes ;  and  even  while  we  press  the  hand 
of  our  friend,  our  soul  will  have  soared 
perhaps  beyond  the  confines  of  this  life. — 
The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

12.  It  is  felt  on  all  sides  that  the  con- 
ditions of  ordinary  life  are  changing,  and 
the  youngest  of  us  already  differ  entirely 
in  speech  and  action  from  the  men  of  the 
last  generation.    A  mass  of  useless  conven- 
tions, habits,  pretences,  and  makeshifts,  is 
being  swept  into  the  gulf;  and  though  we 
know  it  not,  it  is  by  the  invisible  alone  that 

8 


The  Inner  Life 

most  of  us  judge  one  another. — The  Treas- 
ure of  the  Humble. 

13.  Give  the  peasant  the  power  of  ex- 
pressing what  hides  in  his  soul,   and  he 
would  pour  forth  ideas  that  were  not  yet 
in  the  soul  of  Racine.     And  thus  it  is  that 
men  of  a  genius  much  inferior  to  that  of 
Shakespeare  or  Racine  have  yet  had  re- 
vealed to  them  glimpses  of  a  secretly  lumi- 
nous life,  whereof  the  outer  crust  only  had 
been  espied  by  those  masters.     For,  how- 
ever great  the  soul,   it  avails  not  that  it 
should  wander  in  isolation  through  space 
or  time.    Unaided  it  can  do  but  little.    It  is 
the  flower  of  the  multitude. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

14.  Is  it  fully  borne  home  to  you  that 
if  you  have  perchance  this  morning  done 
anything  that  shall  have  brought  sadness 
to  a  single  human  being,  the  peasant,  with 
whom  you  are  about  to  talk  of  the  rain  or 
the  storm,  will  know  of  it — his  soul  will 

9 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 
have  been  warned  even  before  his  hand  has 
thrown  open  the  door?  Though  you  as- 
sume the  face  of  a  saint,  a  hero  or  martyr, 
the  eye  of  the  passing  child  will  not  greet 
you  with  the  same  unapproachable  smile 
if  there  lurk  within  you  an  evil  thought, 
an  injustice,  or  a  brother's  tears.  A  hun- 
dred years  ago  the  soul  of  that  child  would 
perhaps  have  passed,  unheeding,  by  the  side 
of  yours.  .  .  .  — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

15.  A  time  will  come  perhaps — and 
many  things  there  are  that  herald  its  ap- 
proach— a  time  will  come  perhaps  when 
our  souls  will  know  of  each  other  without 
the  intermediary  of  the  senses.  It  is  cer- 
tain not  a  day  passes  but  the  soul  has  added 
to  its  ever-widening  domain.  It  is  very 
much  nearer  to  our  visible  self,  and  takes 
a  far  greater  part  in  all  our  actions,  than  was 
the  case  two  or  three  centuries  ago.  A 
spiritual  epoch  is  perhaps  upon  us ;  an  epoch 
10 


The  Inner  Life 

to  which  a  certain  number  of  analogies  arc 
found  in  history.  For  there  are  periods 
recorded  when  the  soul,  in  obedience  to  un- 
known laws,  seemed  to  rise  to  the  very  sur- 
face of  humanity,  whence  it  gave  clearest 
evidence  of  its  existence  and  of  its  power. 
And  this  existence  and  this  power  revealed 
themselves  in  countless  ways,  diverse  and 
unforeseen.  It  would  seem,  at  moments 
such  as  these,  as  though  humanity  were  on 
the  point  of  struggling  from  beneath  the 
crushing  burden  of  matter  that  weighs  it 
down.  A  spiritual  influence  is  abroad  that 
soothes  and  comforts ;  and  the  sternest,  dir- 
est laws  of  Nature  yield  here  and  there. 
Men  are  nearer  to  themselves,  nearer  to 
their  brothers;  in  the  look  of  their  eyes, 
in  the  love  of  their  hearts,  there  is  deeper 
earnestness  and  tenderer  fellowship.  Their 
understanding  of  women,  children,  animals, 
plants — nay,  of  all  things — becomes  more 
pitiful  and  more  profound.  The  statues, 
ii 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

paintings,  and  writings  that  these  men  have 
left  us  may  perhaps  not  be  perfect,  but,  none 
the  less  a  secret  power  dwell  therein,  an  in- 
describable grace,  held  captive  and  imper- 
ishable for  ever.  A  mysterious  brotherhood 
and  love  must  have  shone  forth  from  the 
eyes  of  these  men;  and  signs  of  a  life  that 
we  cannot  explain  are  everywhere  vibrating 
by  the  side  of  the  life  of  every  day. — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

1 6.  Where  shall  we  look  for  the  gran- 
deur and  beauty  that  can  no  longer  be  found 
in  visible  action,  or  in  the  words  that  have 
lost  their  attractive  images? — For  words 
are  no  more  than  a  kind  of  mirror  which 
reflects  the  beauty  of  all  that  surrounds  it, 
and  the  beauty  of  this  new  world  in  which 
we  have  being  does  not  seem  as  yet  to  have 
touched  with  its  rays  these  somewhat  re- 
luctant mirrors.  Where  shall  we  seek  this 
horizon  and  poetry? — for  these  seem  hard 
to  find  in  a  mystery  which  still  exists,  it  is 

12 


The  Inner  Life 

true,  but  evaporates  the  moment  we  try  to 
give  it  a  name. — Preface  to  the  Modern 
Drama. 

17.  Look  upon  men  and  things  with  the 
inner  eye,  with  its  form  and  desire,  never 
forgetting  that  the  shadow  they  throw  as 
they  pass  upon  hillock  or  wall,  is  but  the 
fleeting  image  of  a  mightier  shadow,  which, 
like  the  wing  of   an   imperishable   swan, 
floats  over  every  soul  that  draws  nearer 
to  their  soul. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

1 8.  The  smallest  consoling  idea  has  a 
strength  of  its  own  that  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  most  magnificent  plaint,  or  the  most 
grandiose  expression  of  sorrow. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

19.  Our  slightest   gesture   at  nightfall 
seems  more  momentous  by  far  than  all  we 
have  done  in  the  day;  but  man  was  created 
to  work  in  the  light,  and  not  to  burrow  in 
darkness. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

20.  It  is  needful,  but  not  all-sufficient, 

13 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

to  have  reflected  deeply  and  boldly  on  man, 
and  nature,  and  God;  for  the  profoundest 
thought  is  of  little  avail  if  it  contain  no 
germ  of  comfort. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

21.  A  sorrow  your  soul  has  changed  into 
sweetness,  into  indulgence  of  patient  smiles, 
is  a  sorrow  that  shall  never  return  without 
spiritual  ornament;  and  a  fault  or  defect 
you  have  looked  in  the  face  can  harm  you 
no  more,  or  even  be  harmful  to  others. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

22.  The  humble  thought  that  connects  a 
mere  satisfied  glance,  an  ordinary,  every- 
day act  of  simple  kindness,  or  an  insignifi- 
cant moment  of  happiness,  with  something 
eternal,  and  stable,  and  beautiful,  is  of  far 
greater  value,  and  infinitely  nearer  to  the 
mystery  of  life,  than  the  grand  and  gloomy 
meditation  wherein  sorrow,  love,  and  de- 
spair blend  with  death  and  destiny  and  the 
apathetic  forces  of  nature. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 


The  Inner  Life 

23.  Were  nature  to  become  less  indiffer- 
ent, it  would  no  longer  appear  so  vast.  Our 
unfettered  sense  of  the  infinite  cannot  afford 
to  dispense  with  one  particle  of  the  infinite, 
with  one  particle  of  its  indifference;  and 
there  will  ever  remain  something  within  our 
soul  that  would  rather  weep  at  times  in  a 
world  that  knows  no  limit,  than  enjoy,  per- 
petual happiness  in  a  world  that  is  confined. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

24.  So  long  as  we  know  not  what  it 
opens,  nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than 
a  key.    .    .    . — Aglavaine  and  Selysette. 

25.  For  all  that  we  say  that  the  soul 
shows  itself  in  our  eyes,  it  seems  to  vanish 
as   we    gaze    into    them. — Aglavaine    and 
Selysette. 

2.6.  Sometimes  one  knows  a  thing  so 
long  without  knowing  .  .  .  and  then,  one 
day,  we  feel  we  have  not  been  kind  enough, 
that  we  might  have  done  more,  that  we 
have  not  loved  as  we  should  have  loved. 
15 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

And  we  yearn  to  begin  again  before  it  be 
too  late. — Aglavaine  and  Selysette. 

27.  We  should  try  to  regard  disillusions 
as  mysterious,  faithful  friends,  as  counsel- 
lors none  can  corrupt. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

28.  The  fragrance  and  limpid  silence  of 
the  dawn  makes  one  feel  as  though  one 
were  alone  in  the  world,  and  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  dawn  in  every  word  one  says. 
— Aglavaine  and  Selysette. 

29.  Perhaps  it  is  not  well  to  awaken 
those  who  slumber,  above  all  when  their 
sleep  is  innocent  and  sweet.    .    .    . — Agla- 
vaine  and  Selysette. 

30.  We  do  not  blame  the  poor  because 
their  home  is  not  a  palace;  it  is  sad  enough 
to  be  compelled  to  live  in  a  hovel. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

31.  The   dreams  of  the  weak  will  be 
often  more  numerous,  lovelier,  than  those 
of  the  strong;  for  these  dreams  absorb  all 

16 


The  Inner  Life 

their  energy,  all  their  activity. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

32.  Some  doubts  are  as  generous  and 
passionate  as  the  very  noblest  convictions. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

33.  Every  ideal  that  conforms  not  with 
some  strenuous  inward  reality  is  nothing 
but  falsehood — sterile  and  futile,  obsequi- 
ous falsehood.     Two  or  three  ideals,  that 
lie  out  of  our  reach,  will  suffice  to  paralyse 
life. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

34.  The  soul  that  is  misunderstood  is 
most  often  the  one  that  has  made  the  least 
effort  to  gain  some  knowledge  of  self. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

35.  To  look  largely  on  the  sadness  of 
one's  life  is  to  make  essay,  in  the  darkness, 
of  the  wings  that  shall  one  day  enable  us 
to  soar  high  above  this  sadness. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

36.  On  your  way  to  the  grave  a  thousand 
external  events  may  approach  you,  whereof 

17 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

not  one,  it  may  be,  shall  find  within  you  the 
force  that  it  needs  to  turn  to  moral  event. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

37.  '  To  act,'  says  Barres,  *  is  to  annex 
to  our  thoughts  vaster  fields  of  experience.' 
It  is  also,  perhaps,  to  think  more  quickly 
than  thought,  and  more  completely ;  for  we 
no  longer  think  with  the  brain  alone,  but 
with   every  atom  of  life. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

38.  To  disdain  is  to  declare  oneself  a 
stranger;  and  what  can  you  hope  to  do  in 
a  world  where  you  shall  ever  pass  as  a 
stranger?    To-day  has  this  advantage  over 
yesterday,  that  it  exists  and  was  made  for 
us.     Be  to-day  what  it  will,  it  has  wider 
knowledge  than  yesterday;  and  that  alone 
is  sufficient  to  render  it  more  beautiful,  and 
vaster. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

39.  It  is  when  our  love  is  becoming  too 
great  that  we  are  afraid  of  the  gentle.  .  .  . 

— Aglavaine  and  Selysette. 
18 


The  Inner  Life 

40.  It  avails  us  nothing  unduly  to  be- 
moan our  errors  or  losses.     For  happen 
what  may  to  the  man  of  simple  faith,  still, 
at  the  last  minute  of  the  sorrow-laden  hour, 
at  the  end  of  the  week  or  year,  still  will  he 
find  some  cause  for  gladness  as  he  turns  his 
eyes  within.    Little  by  little  he  has  learned 
to    regret    without    tears. — Wisdom    and 
Destiny. 

41.  To-day  misery  is  the  disease  of  man- 
kind, as  disease  is  the  misery  of  man.  And 
even  as  there  are  physicians  for  disease,  so 
should  there  be  physicians  for  human  mis- 
ery.    But  can  the  fact  that  disease  is,  un- 
happily, only  too  prevalent,  render  it  wrong 
for  us  ever  to  speak  of  health  ? — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

42.  The  angels  that  dry  our  eyes  bear 
the  form  and  features  of  all  we  have  said 
and  thought — above  all,  of  what  we  have 
done,  prior  to  the  hour  of  misfortune. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

19 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

43.  Economy  avails  us  nothing  in  the 
region  of  the  heart,  for  it  is  there  that  men 
gather  the  harvest  of  life's  very  substance; 
and  better  that  nothing  were  done  there 
than  that  things  should  be  done  by  halves; 
and  that  which  we  have  not  dared  to  risk 
is  most  surely  lost  of  all.     To  limit  our 
passions  is  only  to  limit  ourselves;  and  we 
are  the  losers  by  just  so  much  as  we  had 
hoped  to  gain. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

44.  The    earnest    wayfarer    along    the 
paths  of  life  becomes  ever  more  deeply  con- 
cerned, as  his  travels  widen,  of  the  beauty, 
the  wisdom,  and  truth  of  the  simplest  and 
humblest  laws  of  existence. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

45.  There  is  not  a  thing  in  this  world 
whereupon  your  glance  or  your  thought 
can  rest  but  contains  within  it  more  treasure 
than  either  of  these  can  fathom;  nor  is 
there  a  thing  so  small  but  it  has  a  vastness 
within  it  that  all  the  light  of  the  soul  can 

20 


The  Inner  Life 

at  best  but  faintly  illumine. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

46.  We  know   exactly   how   much   the 
inert  forces  owe  to  the  thinker;  we  forget 
the  deep  indebtedness  of  the  thinker  to  inert 
forces. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

47.  Thinkers  too  often  are  apt  to  de- 
spise those  who  go  through  life  without 
thinking.     Thought  is  doubtless  of  high 
value;   our  first  endeavour  should  be   to 
think  as  often  and  as  well  as  we  can;  but 
nevertheless  do  we  err  in  believing  that  the 
possession,  or  lack,  of  a  certain  faculty  for 
handling  general  ideas   can   actually   sep- 
arate men.     After  all,  the  difference  be- 
tween the  greatest  thinker  and  the  smallest 
provincial  burgher  is  often  only  the  differ- 
ence between  a  truth  that  at  times  finds  ex- 
pression, and  another  that  never  is  able  to 
crystallize  into  form. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

48.  Thought  is  a  solitary,  wandering, 

21 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

fugitive  force,  which  advances  towards  us 
to-day  and  to-morrow  perhaps  will  vanish; 
whereas  every  deed  presupposes  a  perma- 
nent army  of  ideas  and  desires  which  have, 
after  lengthy  effort,  secured  foothold  in 
reality. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

49.  Let  us  always  remember  that  noth- 
ing befalls  us  that  is  not  of  the  nature  of 
ourselves.  There  comes  no  adventure  but 
wears  to  our  soul  the  shape  of  our  everyday 
thoughts;  and  deeds  of  heroism  are  only 
offered  to  those  who  have,  for  many  long 
years,  been  heroes  in  obscurity  and  silence. 
And  whether  you  climb  up  the  mountain 
or  go  down  the  hill  to  the  valley,  whether 
you  journey  to  the  end  of  the  world  or 
merely  walk  round  your  house,  none  but 
yourself  shall  you  meet  on  the  highway  of 
fate.  If  Judas  go  forth  to-night,  it  is 
towards  Judas  his  steps  will  tend,  nor  will 
chance  for  betrayal  be  lacking;  but  let  Soc- 
rates open  his  door,  he  shall  find  Socrates 

22 


The  Inner  Life 

asleep  on  the  threshold  before  him,  and 
there  will  be  occasion  for  wisdom. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

50.  To  man,  though  all  that  he  value 
go  under,  the  intimate  truth  of  the  universe 
must  be  wholly,  pre-eminently  admirable. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

51.  Till  reality  confront  us,  it  is  well, 
it  may  be,  to  cherish  ideals  that  we  hold  to 
surpass  it  in  beauty ;  but  when  reality  stands 
face  to  face,  then  must  the  ideal  flame  that 
has  fed  on  our  noblest  desires  be  content 
to  throw  faithful  light  on  the  less  fragile, 
less  tender  beauty  of  the  mighty  mass  that 
crushes  these  desires. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

52.  In  life,  books  have  by  no  means  the 
importance  that  writers  and  readers  claim 
for  them.    We  should  regard  them  as  did 
a  friend  of  mine,  a  man  of  great  wisdom, 
who  listened  one  day  to  the  recital  of  the 
last  moments  of  the  Emperor  Antoninus 

23 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

Pius.  Antoninus  Pius — who  was  perhaps 
truly  the  best  and  most  perfect  man  this 
world  has  known,  better  even  than  Marcus 
Aurelius;  for  in  addition  to  the  virtues,  the 
kindness,  the  deep  feeling  and  wisdom  of 
his  adopted  son,  he  had  something  of 
greater  virility  and  energy,  of  simpler  hap- 
piness, something  more  real,  spontaneous, 
closer  to  everyday  life — Antoninus  Pius  lay 
on  his  bed,  awaiting  the  summons  of  death, 
his  eyes  dim  with  unbidden  tears,  his  limbs 
moist  with  the  pale  sweat  of  agony.  At 
that  moment  entered  the  captain  of  the 
guard,  come  to  demand  the  watchword, 
such  being  the  custom.  Aequammitas — 
evenness  of  mind,  he  replied,  as  he  turned 
his  head  to  the  eternal  shadow.  "It  is 
well  that  we  should  love  and  admire  that 
word,"  said  my  friend. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

53.  To  be  conscious  of  moral  improve- 
24 


The  Inner  Life 

ment  is  of  the  essence  of  consciousness. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny, 

54.  The  event  in  itself  is  pure  water  that 
flows  from  the  pitcher  of  fate,  and  seldom 
has  it  either  savour  or  perfume  or  colour. 
But  even  as  the  soul  may  be  wherein  it 
seeks  shelter,  so  will  the  event  become  joy- 
ous or  sad,  become  tender  or  hateful,  dead- 
ly or  quick  with  life. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

55.  To  those  round  about  us  there  hap- 
pen   incessant    and    countless    adventures, 
whereof  every  one,  it  would  seem,  contains 
a    germ   of   heroism;   but   the    adventure 
passes  away,  and  heroic  deed  is  there  none. 
But  when  Jesus  Christ  met  the  Samaritan, 
met  a  few  children,  an  adulterous  woman, 
then  did  humanity  rise  three  times  in  suc- 
cession to  the  level  of  God. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

56.  No  great  inner  event  befalls  those 
who  summon  it  not;  and  yet  is  there  germ 

25 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

of  great  inner  event  in  the  smallest  occur- 
rence of  life. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

57.  If  there  be  in  my  life  no  noble  or 
generous   deeds   that   memory    can   bring 
back  to  me,  then,  at  the  inevitable  moment 
when  memory  melts  into  tears,  must  these 
tears,  too,  be  bereft  of  all  that  is  generous 
or  noble.    For  tears  in  themselves  have  no 
colour,  in  order  that  they  may  the  better 
reflect  the  past  life  of  our  soul;  and  this 
reflection  becomes  our  chastisement,  or  our 
reward. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

58.  The  inner  life  that  is  surest,  most 
lasting,  possessed  of  the  uttermost  beauty, 
must  needs  be  the  one  that  consciousness 
slowly  erects  in  itself,  with  the  aid  of  all 
that  is  purest  in  the  soul. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

59.  Would  Carlyle  have  desired  to  ex- 
change the  magnificent  sorrow  that  flooded 
his  soul,  and  blossomed  so  tenderly  there, 
for  the  conjugal  joys,  superficial  and  sun- 

26 


The  Inner  Life 

less,  of  his  happiest  neighbour  in  Chelsea  ? 
And  was  not  Ernest  Kenan's  grief,  when 
Henriette,  his  sister,  died,  more  grateful 
to  the  soul  than  the  absence  of  grief,  in  the 
thousands  of  others,  who  have  no  love  to 
give  to  a  sister  ? — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

60.  There  are  many  ways  of  accepting 
misfortune — as  many,  indeed,  as  there  are 
generous  feelings  or  thoughts  to  be  found 
on   the    earth;    and   every   one    of   those 
thoughts,  every  one  of  those  feelings,  has  a 
magic  wand  that  transforms,  on  the  thresh- 
old, the  features  and  vestments  of  sorrow. 
Job  would  have  said,  '  The  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord ' ;  and  Marcus  Aurelius 
perhaps,  '  If  it  be  no  longer  allowed  me  to 
love  those  I  loved  high  above  all,   it  is 
doubtless  that  I  may  learn  to  love  those 
whom  I  love  not  yet.' — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

61.  Infinitely  too  great  importance  is 

27 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

generally  ascribed  to  the  triumph  of  spirit 
over  body,  those  pretended  triumphs  being 
most  often  the  total  defeat  of  life. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

62.  Should  we  not  invariably  act  in  this 
life  as  though  the  God  whom  our  heart  de- 
sires with  its  highest  desire  were  watching 
our  every  action? — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

63.  Be  sure  that  the  day  you  lingered  to 
follow  a  ray  of  light  through  a  crevice  in 
the  door  of  life,  you  did  something  as  great 
as  though  you  had  bandaged  the  wounds 
of  your  enemy,  for  at  that  moment  you  no 
longer  had  an  enemy. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

64.  To  believe  is  not  enough;  all  de- 
pends on  how  we  believe.     I  may  believe 
that  there  is  no  God,  that  I  am  self-con- 
tained, that  my  brief  sojourn  here  serves 
no  purpose;  that  in  the  economy  of  this 
world  without  limit  my  existence  counts  for 
as  little  as  the  evanescent  hue  of  a  flower — 

28 


The  Inner  Life 

I  may  believe  all  this,  in  a  deeply  religious 
spirit,  with  the  infinite  throbbing  within 
me;  you  may  believe  in  one  all-powerful 
God,  who  cherishes  and  protects  you,  yet 
your  belief  may  be  mean,  and  petty,  and 
small.  I  shall  be  happier  than  you,  and 
calmer,  if  my  doubt  is  greater,  and  nobler, 
and  more  earnest  than  is  your  faith;  if  it 
has  probed  more  deeply  into  my  soul,  tra- 
versed wider  horizons,  if  there  are  more 
things  it  has  loved.  And  if  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  on  which  my  doubt  reposes  have 
become  vaster  and  purer  than  those  that 
support  your  faith,  then  shall  the  God  of 
my  disbelief  become  mightier  and  of  su- 
premer  comfort  than  the  God  to  whom  you 
cling.  For,  indeed,  belief  and  unbelief  are 
mere  empty  words;  not  so  the  loyalty,  the 
greatness  and  the  profoundness  of  the  rea- 
sons wherefore  we  believe  or  do  not  believe. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

65.  A  truth  that  disheartens,  because  it 
29 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

is  true,  is  still  of  far  more  value  than  the 
most  stimulating  of  falsehoods. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

66.  A  mystery  rarely  disappears — as  a 
rule,  it  only  shifts  its  ground.  But  it  is 
often  most  important  and  most  desirable 
that  we  should  bring  about  this  change  of 
abode.  It  may  be  said  that  two  or  three 
such  changes  almost  stand  for  the  whole 
progress  of  human  thought:  the  dislodg- 
ment  of  two  or  three  mysteries  from  a 
place  where  they  did  harm,  and  their  trans- 
ference to  a  place  where  they  become  inof- 
fensive and  capable  of  doing  good.  Some- 
times, even,  there  is  no  need  for  the  mystery 
to  change  its  place;  we  have  only  to  iden- 
tify it  under  another  name.  What  was 
once  called  '  the  gods '  we  now  term  *  life.' 
And  if  life  be  as  inexplicable  as  were  the 
gods,  we  are  at  least  the  gainers  to  the  ex- 
tent that  no  one  has  the  right  to  speak  or 
30 


The  Inner  Life 

do  wrong  in  its  name. — The  Burled  Tem- 
ple. 

67.  It  is  not  the  incomprehensible  in  na- 
ture that  masters  and  crushes  us,  but  the 
thought  that  nature  may  possibly  be  gov- 
erned by  a  conscious,  superior,  reasoning 
will:  one  that,  although  super-human,  has 
yet  some  kinship  to  the  will  of  man.    What 
we  dread,  in  a  word,  is  the  presence  of  a 
God;  and  speak  as  we  may  of  fatality,  jus- 
tice, or  mystery,  it  is  always  God  whom  we 
fear :  a  being,  that  is,  like  ourselves,  though 
almighty,  eternal,  invisible,  and  infinite. — 
The  Burled  Temple. 

68.  When  we  say  to  ourselves,   '  This 
thing  is  of  Nature's  devising;  it  is  she  has 
ordained  his  marvel;  these  are  her  desires 
that  we  see  before  us,'  the  fact  is  merely 
that  our  special  attention  has  been  drawn 
to  some  tiny  manifestation  of  life  upon  the 
boundless  surface  of  matter  that  we  deem 
inactive,  and  choose  to  describe,  with  evi- 

31 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

dent  inaccuracy,  as  nothingless  and  death. 
A  purely  fortuitous  chain  of  events  has 
allowed  this  special  manifestation  to  attract 
our  attention;  but  a  thousand  others — no 
less  interesting,  perhaps,  and  informed  with 
no  less  intelligence — have  vanished,  not 
meeting  with  a  like  good  fortune,  and  have 
lost  for  ever  the  chance  of  exciting  our 
wonder.  It  were  rash  to  affirm  aught  be- 
side; and  all  that  remains — our  reflections, 
our  obstinate  search  for  the  final  cause,  our 
admiration  and  hopes — all  these  in  truth 
are  no  more  than  our  feeble  cry  as,  in  the 
depths  of  the  unknown,  we  clash  against 
what  is  more  unknowable  still;  and  this 
feeble  cry  declares  the  highest  degree  of 
individual  existence  attainable  for  us  on  this 
mute  and  impenetrable  surface,  just  as  the 
flight  of  the  condor,  the  song  of  the  night- 
ingale, declare  the  highest  degree  of  exist- 
ence their  species  allows. — The  Life  of  the 
Bee. 

32 


The  Inner  Life 

69.  There  comes  a  period  of  life  when 
we  have  more  joy  in  saying  the  thing  that 
is  true  than  in  saying  the  thing  that  merely 
is  wonderful. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

70.  The  same  light  that  falls  on  the  in- 
tellect falls  also  on  passion,  whereof  none 
can  tell  whether  it  be  the  smoke  of  the 
flame,  or  the  wick. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

71.  There  is  a  hopefulness  in  man  which 
renders  him  unwilling  to  grant  that  the 
cause  of  his  misfortune  may  be  as  trans- 
parent as  that  of  the  wave  which  dies  away 
in  the  sand  or  is  hurled  on  the  cliff,  or  of 
the  insect  whose  little  wings  gleam  for  an 
instant  in  the  light  of  the  sun  till  the  passing 
bird    absorbs   its    existence. — The   Buried 
Temple. 

72.  The  hour  when  a  lofty  conviction 
forsakes  us  should  never  be  one  of  regret. 
If  a  belief  we  have  clung  to  goes,  or  a 
spring  snaps  within  us;  if  we  at  last  de- 
throne the  idea  that  so  long  has  held  sway, 

33 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

this  is  proof  of  vitality,  progress,  of  our 
marching  steadily  onwards,  and  making 
good  use  of  all  that  lies  to  our  hand.  We 
should  rejoice  at  the  knowledge  that  the 
thought  which  so  long  has  sustained  us  is 
proved  incapable  now  of  even  sustaining 
itself.  And  though  we  have  nothing  to  put 
in  the  place  of  the  spring  that  lies  broken, 
there  need  still  be  no  cause  for  sadness. 
Far  better  the  place  remain  empty  than  that 
it  be  filled  by  a  spring  which  the  rust  cor- 
rodes, or  by  a  new  truth  in  which  we  do 
not  wholly  believe.  And  besides,  the  place 
is  not  really  empty.  Determinate  truth  may 
have  not  yet  arrived,  but  still,  in  its  own 
deep  recess,  there  hides  a  truth  without  a 
name,  which  waits  and  calls.  And  if  it 
wait  and  call  too  long  in  the  void,  and  noth- 
ing rise  in  the  place  of  the  vanished  spring, 
it  still  shall  be  found  in  moral  no  less  than 
in  physical  life,  that  necessity  will  be  able 
to  create  the  organ  it  needs,  and  that  the 

34 


The  Inner  Life 

negative  truth  will  at  last  find  sufficient 
force  in  itself  to  set  the  idle  machinery 
going.  And  the  lives  that  possess  no  more 
than  one  force  of  this  kind  are  not  the  least 
strenuous,  the  least  ardent,  or  the  least  use- 
ful.— The  Buried  Temple. 

73.  Of  what  is  this  consciousness  com- 
posed whereof  we  are  so  proud?  Of  far 
more  shadow  than  light,  of  far  more  ac- 
quired ignorance  than  knowledge,  of  far 
more  things  whose  comprehension,  we  are 
well  aware,  must  ever  elude  us,  than  of 
things  that  we  actually  know.  And  yet  in 
this  consciousness  lies  all  our  dignity,  our 
most  veritable  greatness;  it  is  probably  the 
most  surprising  phenomenon  this  world 
contains.  It  is  this  which  permits  us  to  raise 
our  head  before  the  unknown  principle,  and 
say  to  it,  *  What  you  are  I  know  not,  but 
there  is  something  within  me  that  already 
enfolds  you.  You  will  destroy  me  perhaps, 
but  if  your  object  be  not  to  construct,  from 

35 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

my  ruins,  an  organism  better  than  mine, 
you  will  prove  yourself  inferior  to  what  I 
am,  and  the  silence  that  will  follow  the 
death  of  the  race  to  which  I  belong  will 
declare  to  you  that  you  have  been  judged. 
And  if  you  are  not  capable  even  of  caring 
whether  you  be  justly  judged  or  not,  of 
what  value  can  your  secret  be  ?  It  must  be 
stupid,  or  hideous.  Chance  has  enabled  you 
to  produce  a  -creature  that  you  yourself 
lacked  the  quality  to  produce.  It  is  for- 
tunate for  him  that  a  contrary  chance 
should  have  permitted  you  to  suppress  him, 
before  he  had  fathomed  the  depth  of  your 
unconsciousness;  more  fortunate  still  that 
he  does  not  survive  the  infinite  series  of 
your  awful  experiments.  He  had  nothing 
to  do  in  a  world  where  his  intellect  corre- 
sponded to  no  eternal  intellect,  where  his 
desire  for  the  better  could  attain  no  actual 
good.' — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

74.  *  Within  me  there  is  more,'  runs  the 
36 


The  Inner  Life 

fine  device  inscribed  on  the  beams  and  pedi- 
ments of  an  old  patrician  mission  at 
Bruges,  which  every  traveller  visits ;  filling 
a  corner  of  one  of  those  tender  and  melan- 
choly quays  that  are  as  forlorn  and  lifeless 
as  though  they  existed  only  on  canvas.  And 
so  too  might  man  exclaim,  '  Within  me 
there  is  more ;'  every  law  of  morality,  every 
intelligible  mystery. — The  Buried  Temple. 
75.  It  is  not  unreasonable  to  believe  that 
the  paramount  interest  of  life,  all  that  is 
truly  lofty  and  remarkable  in  the  destiny 
of  man,  reposes  almost  entirely  in  the  mys- 
tery that  surrounds  us ;  in  the  two  mysteries, 
it  may  be,  that  are  mightiest,  most  dreadful 
of  all — fatality  and  death.  And  indeed 
there  are  many  whom  the  fatigue  induced 
in  their  minds  by  the  natural  uncertainties 
of  science  has  almost  compelled  to  accept 
this  belief.  I,  too,  believe,  though  in  a 
somewhat  different  fashion,  that  the  study 
37 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

of  mystery  in  all  its  forms  is  the  noblest  to 
which  the  mind  of  man  can  devote  itself; 
and  truly  it  has  ever  been  the  study  and 
care  of  those  who,  in  science  and  art,  in 
philosophy  and  literature,  have  refused  to 
be  satisfied  merely  to  observe  and  portray 
the  trivial,  well-recognized  truths,  facts, 
and  realities  of  life.  And  we  find  that  the 
success  of  these  men  in  their  endeavour,  the 
depth  of  their  insight  into  all  that  they 
knew,  has  most  strictly  accorded  with  the 
respect  in  which  they  held  all  they  did 
not  know,  with  the  dignity  that  their  mind 
or  imagination  was  able  to  confer  on  the 
sum  of  unknowable  forces.  Our  conscious- 
ness of  the  unknown  wherein  we  have  being 
gives  life  a  meaning  and  grandeur  which 
must  of  necessity  be  absent  if  we  persist  in 
considering  only  the  things  that  are  known 
to  us;  if  we  too  readily  incline  to  believe 
that  these  must  greatly  transcend  in  im- 
38 


The  Inner  Life 

portance  the  things  which  we  know  not  yet. 
— The  Burled  Temple. 

76.  Whatever  we  take  from  the  skies  we 
find  again  in  the  heart  of  man. — The  Bur- 
ied Temple. 

77.  We  derive  no  greatness,  sublimity, 
or    depth,    from    unceasingly    fixing    our 
thoughts  on  the  infinite  and  the  unknown. 
Such  meditation  becomes  truly  helpful  only 
when  it  is  the  unexpected  reward  of  the 
mind  that  has  loyally,  unreservedly,  given 
itself  to  the  study  of  the  finite  and  the  know- 
able;  and  to  such  a  mind  it  will  soon  be 
revealed  how  strangely  different  is  the  mys- 
tery which  precedes  what  one   does  not 
know  from  the  mystery  that  follows  closely 
on  what  one  has  learned.    The  first  would 
seem  to  contain  many  sorrows,  but  that  is 
only  because  the  sorrows  are  grouped  too 
closely,  and  have  their  home  upon  two  or 
three  peaks  that  stand  too  nearly  together. 

39 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

In  the  second  is  far  less  sadness,  for  its  area 
is  vast;  and  when  the  horizon  is  wide,  there 
exists  no  sorrow  so  great  but  it  takes  the 
form  of  a  hope. — The  Buried  Temple. 


II 

HAPPINESS 


II 

HAPPINESS 

THERE  are  times  when  deep  thought 
is  no  more  than  merely  fictitious  con- 
sciousness; but  an  act  of  charity,  the  heroic 
duty  fulfilled — these  are  true  consciousness ; 
in  other  words,  happiness  in  action. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

79.  In  happiness  there  are  far  more  re- 
gions unknown  than  there  are  in  misfor- 
tune.   The  voice  of  misfortune  is  ever  the 
same ;  happiness  becomes  the  more  silent  as 
it  penetrates  deeper. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

80.  Would  you  learn  where  true  happi- 
ness dwells,  you  have  only  to  watch  the 
movements  of  those  who  are  wretched,  and 
seek  consolation. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

8 1.  Happiness     or    unhappiness  arises 
from  all  that  we  do  from  the  day  of  our 

43 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

birth  to  the  day  of  our  death ;  and  it  is  not 
in  death,  but  indeed  in  the  days  and  the 
years  that  precede  it,  that  we  can  discover 
a  man's  true  happiness  or  sorrow — in  a 
word,  his  destiny. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

82.  To  know  what  happiness  means  is 
of  far  more  importance  to  the  soul  of  man 
than  to  enjoy  it. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

83.  He  is  the  happiest  man  who  best 
understands  his  happiness;  for  he  is  of  all 
men  most  fully  aware  that  it  is  only  the 
lofty  idea,  the  untiring,  courageous,  human 
idea,  that  separates  gladness  from  sorrow. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

84.  Some  ideas  there  are  that  lie  beyond 
the  reach  of  any  catastrophe.     He  will  be 
far  less  exposed  to  disaster  who  cherishes 
ideas  within  him  that  soar  high  above  the 
indifference,  selfishness,  vanities,  of  every- 
day life.    And  therefore,  come  happiness  or 
sorrow,  the  happiest  man  will  be  he  within 

44 


Happiness 

whom  the  greatest  idea  shall  burn  the  most 
ardently. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

85.  There  are  some  who  are  wholly  un- 
able to  support  the  burden  of  joy.    There 
is  a  courage  of  happiness  as  well  as  a  cour- 
age of  sorrow.     It  may  even  be  true  that 
permanent  happiness  call  for  more  strength 
in  man  than  permanent  sorrow. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

86.  Is  it  not  the  first  duty  of  those  who 
are   happy   to    tell   of   their   gladness   to 
others?     All  men  can  learn  to  be  happy; 
and  the  teaching  of  it  is  easy. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

87.  Do  not  believe  you  are  happy  till 
you  have  been  led  by  your  happiness  up  to 
the  heights  whence  itself  disappears  from 
your  gaze,  but  leaving  you  still  with  the 
same  unimpaired  desire  to  live. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

88.  Before  we  can  bring  happiness  to 
others,  we  must  first  be  happy  ourselves; 

45 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

nor  will  happiness  abide  within  us  unless 
we  confer  it  on  others. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

89.  If  the  happiness  of  your  brother 
sadden  you,  do  not  despise  yourself;  you 
will  not  have  to  travel  far  along  the  road 
before  you  come  across  something  within 
yourself  that  will  not  be  saddened. — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

90.  It  is  well  to  know  moments  of  ma- 
terial happiness,  since  they  teach  us  where 
we  shall  look  for  loftier  joys;  and  all  that 
we  gain,   perhaps,    from  listening  to   the 
hours  that  babble  aloud  in  their  wantonness 
is  that  we  are  slowly  learning  the  language 
of  the  hours  whose  voice  is  hushed. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

91.  There   is   in   happiness   a   humility 
deeper  and  nobler,  purer  and  wider,  than 
sorrow   can  ever  procure. — Wisdom   and 
Destiny. 

92.  We  should  be  as  happy  as  possible, 

46 


Happiness 

aiid  our  happiness  should  last  as  long  as 
possible;  for  those  who  can  finally  issue 
from  self  by  the  portal  of  happiness,  know 
infinitely  wider  freedom  than  those  who 
pass  through  the  gate  of  sadness. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

93.  It  is  well,  at  first,  to  know  happiness 
as  men  conceive  it,  so  that,  later,  we  may 
have  good  reason  for  preferring  the  happi- 
ness of  our  choice. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

94.  It  may  be  that  a  man  will  find  happi- 
ness in  the  puny  little  victories  that  his 
vanity,  envy,  or  indifference  win  for  him 
day  after  day.    Shall  we  begrudge  him  such 
happiness,  we,  whose  eyes  can  see  further? 
Shall  we  strive   for  his   consciousness  of 
life,  for  the  religion  that  pleases  his  soul, 
for  the  conception  of  the  universe  that  justi- 
fies his  cares?    Yet  out  of  these  things  are 
the  banks  made  between  which  happiness 
flows;  and  as  they  are,  so  shall  the  river 
be,  in  shallowness  or  in  depth.     He  may 

47 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

believe  that  there  is  a  God,  or  that  there  is 
no  God ;  that  all  ends  in  this  world,  or  that 
it  is  prolonged  into  the  next;  that  all  is 
matter  or  that  all  is  spirit.  He  will  believe 
these  things  much  as  wise  men  believe 
them;  but  do  you  think  his  manner  of  be- 
lief can  be  the  same?  To  look  fearlessly 
upon  life;  to  accept  the  laws  of  nature,  not 
with  meek  resignation,  but  as  her  sons,  who 
dare  to  search  and  question;  to  have  peace 
and  confidence  within  our  soul — these  are 
the  beliefs  that  make  for  happiness. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

95.  Our  happiness  mainly  depends  on 
the  freedom  that  reigns  within  us;  a  free- 
dom that  widens  with  every  good  deed, 
and  contracts  beneath  acts  of  evil.  Not 
metaphorically,  but  literally,  does  Marcus 
Aurelius  free  himself  each  time  he  discovers 
a  new  truth  in  indulgence,  each  time  that  he 
pardons,  each  time  he  reflects.  Still  less  of 
a  metaphor  is  it  to  declare  that  Macbeth 
48 


Happiness 

enchains  himself  anew  with  every  fresh 
crime.  And  if  this  be  true  of  the  great 
crimes  of  kings  and  the  virtues  of  heroes, 
it  is  no  less  true  of  the  humblest  faults  and 
most  hidden  virtues  of  ordinary  life.  Many 
a  youthful  Marcus  Aurelius  is  still  about 
us;  many  a  Macbeth,  who  never  stirs  from 
his  room. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

96.  Happiness  is  a  plant  that  thrives  far 
more  readily  in  moral  than  in  intellectual 
life.     Consciousness — the  consciousness  of 
happiness,  above  all — will  not  choose  the 
intellect  as  a  hiding-place  for  the  treasure 
it  holds  most  dear. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

97.  There  is  nothing  in  all  the  world 
more  just  than  happiness,  nothing  that  will 
more   faithfully   adopt  the   form   of  our 
soul,  or  so  carefully  fill  the  space  that  our 
wisdom  flings  open.     Yet  is  it  most  silent 
of  all  that  there  is  in  the  world. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

98.  To  be  happy  is  only  to  have  freed 

49 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

one's  soul  from  the  unrest  of  happiness. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

99.  Happiness  rarely  is  absent;  it  is  we 
that  know  not  of  its  presence. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

100.  Are  not  joys  to  be  met  with  on  the 
highways  of  life  that  are  greater  than  any 
misfortune,    more   momentous    even    than 
death?     May  a  happiness  not  be  encoun- 
tered that  the  eye  cannot  see  ?  and  is  it  not 
of  the  nature  of  happiness  to  be  less  mani- 
fest than  misfortune,  to  become  ever  less 
apparent  to  the  eye  as  it  reaches  loftier 
heights  ?    But  to  this  we  refuse  to  pay  heed. 
The  whole  village,  the  town,  will  flock  to 
the  spot  where  some  wretched  adventure 
takes  place;  but  there  are  none  will  pause 
for  an  instant  and  let  their  eyes  rest  on  a 
kiss,  or  a  vision  of  beauty  that  gladdens  the 
soul,  a  ray  of  love  that  illumines  the  heart. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

101.  Suffering,  sorrow,  tears,  regrets — 

50 


Happiness 

these  words,  that  vary  so  slightly  in  mean- 
ing, are  names  that  we  give  to  emotions 
which  in  no  two  men  are  alike.  If  we  probe 
to  the  heart  of  these  words,  these  emotions, 
we  find  they  are  only  the  track  that  is  left 
by  our  faults;  and  there  where  these  faults 
were  noble  (for  there  are  noble  faults  as 
there  are  mean  or  trivial  virtues)  our  sor- 
row will  be  nearer  akin  to  veritable  happi- 
ness than  the  happiness  of  those  whose  con- 
sciousness still  is  confined  within  narrowest 
limits. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

1 02.  We  shall  have  added  most  strange- 
ly to  our  safety,  our  happiness  and  peace, 
the  day  that  our  sloth  and  our  ignorance 
shall  have  ceased  to  term  fatal,  what  should 
truly  be  looked  on  as  human  and  natural  by 
our  intelligence  and  our  energy. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

103.  If  all  who  count  themselves  happy 
were  to  tell,  very  simply,  what  it  was  that 
brought    happiness    to    them,    the    others 

Si 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

would  see  that  between  sorrow  and  joy  the 
difference  is  but  as  between  a  gladsome, 
enlightened  acceptance  of  life  and  a  hostile, 
gloomy  submission;  between  a  large  and 
harmonious  conception  of  life,  and  one  that 
is  stubborn  and  narrow. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

104.  Let  us  hope  that  one  day  all  man- 
kind will  be  happy  and  wise;  and  though 
this  day  never  should  dawn,  to  have  hoped 
for  it  cannot  be  wrong.    And  in  any  event, 
it  is  helpful  to  speak  of  happiness  to  those 
who  are  sad,  that  thus  at  least  they  may 
learn  what  it  is  that  happiness  means. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

105.  As  man  was  created  for  health,  so 
was  mankind  created  for  happiness ;  and  to 
speak  of  its  misery  only,  though  that  misery 
everywhere  seem  everlasting,  is  only  to  say 
words  that  fall  lightly  and  soon  are  for- 
gotten.   Why  not  speak  as  though  mankind 
were  always  on  the  eve  of  great  certitude, 

52 


Happiness 

of  great  joy?  Thither,  in  truth,  is  man 
led  by  his  instinct,  though  he  never  may 
live  to  behold  the  long-wished-for  to-mor- 
row.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

1 06.  It  is  imperative  that  there  should 
be  some  who  dare  speak,  and  think,  and 
act,  as  though  all  men  were  happy;  for 
otherwise,  when  the  day  comes  for  destiny 
to  throw  open  wide  the  people's  garden  of 
the  promised  land,  what  happiness  shall  the 
others  find  there,  what  justice,  what  beauty 
or  love  ? — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 


53 


Ill 

JUSTICE 


Ill 

JUSTICE 

IT  is  difficult  for  us  to  imagine  what 
the    ideal   justice   will   be,    for   every 
thought  of  ours  that  tends  towards  it  is 
clogged  by  the  injustice  wherein  we  still 
dwell. — The  Buried  Temple. 

1 08.  He  whose  eyes  can  see  the  invisi- 
ble, knows  that  in  the  soul  of  the  most  un- 
just man  there  is  justice  still:  justice,  with 
all  her  attributes,   her  stainless  garments 
and  holy  activity.    He  knows  that  the  soul 
of  the  sinner  is  ever  balancing  peace  and 
love,  and  the  consciousness  of  life,  no  less 
scrupulously  than  the  soul  of  philosopher, 
saint,  or  hero ;  that  it  watches  the  smiles  of 
earth  and  sky,  and  is  no  less  aware  of  all 
whereby  those  smiles  are  destroyed,  degrad- 
ed, and  poisoned. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

109.  *  One  has  to  pay  for  all  things,1  we 

57 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

say.  Yes,  in  the  depth  of  our  heart,  in  all 
that  pertains  to  man,  justice  exacts  payment 
in  the  coin  of  our  personal  happiness  or 
sorrow.  And  without,  in  the  universe  that 
enfolds  us,  there  is  also  a  reckoning;  but 
here  it  is  a  different  paymaster  who  meas- 
ures our  happiness  or  sorrow.  Other  laws 
obtain,  there  are  other  motives,  other  meth- 
ods. It  is  no  longer  the  justice  of  the  con- 
science that  presides,  but  the  logic  of  nature, 
which  cares  nothing  for  our  morality. 
Within  us  is  a  spirit  that  weighs  only  inten- 
tions, without  us  a  power  that  only  balances 
deeds.  We  try  to  persuade  ourselves  that 
these  two  work  hand  in  hand.  But  in 
reality,  though  the  spirit  will  often  glance 
towards  the  power,  this  last  is  as  completely 
ignorant  of  the  other's  existence  as  is  the 
man  weighing  coals  in  Northern  Europe  of 
the  existence  of  his  fellow  weighing  dia- 
monds in  South  Africa.  We  are  constantly 
intruding  our  sense  of  justice  into  this  non- 
58 


Justice 

moral  logic;  and  herein  lies  the  source  of 
most  of  our  errors. — The  Buried  Temple. 
no.  But  what  does  it  matter,  some  will 
ask,  whether  man  do  the  thing  that  is  just 
because  he  thinks  God  is  watching — be- 
cause he  believes  in  a  kind  of  justice  that 
pervades  the  universe — or  for  the  simple 
reason  that  to  his  conscience  this  thing 
seems  just?  It  matters  above  all.  We 
have  there  three  different  men.  The  first, 
whom  God  is  watching,  will  do  much  that  is 
not  just,  for  every  God  whom  man  has 
hitherto  worshipped  has  decreed  many  un- 
just things.  And  the  second  will  not  always 
act  in  the  same  way  as  the  third,  who  is,  in- 
deed, the  true  man  to  whom  the  moralist 
will  turn,  for  he  will  survive  both  the 
others;  and  to  foretell  how  man  will  con- 
duct himself  in  truth,  which  is  his  natural 
element,  is  more  interesting  to  the  moralist 
than  to  watch  his  behaviour  when  enmeshed 
in  falsehood. — The  Burled  Temple. 

59 


Thoughts   from   Maeterlinck 

in.  Is  it  not  almost  ludicrous  that  we, 
who  within  our  four  walls  strive  to  be  noble 
and  faithful,  pitiful,  simple,  and  loyal;  we 
whose  consciousness  balances  the  nicest, 
most  delicate  problems,  and  rejects  even  the 
suspicion  of  a  bitter  thought,  have  no  sooner 
gone  into  the  street,  and  met  faces  that  are 
unfamiliar,  than,  at  that  very  instant,  and 
without  the  least  possibility  of  our  having  it 
otherwise,  all  pity,  equity,  love  should  be 
completely  ignored  by  us?  What  dignity, 
what  loyalty,  can  there  be  in  this  double 
life,  so  wise  and  humane,  uplifted  and 
thoughtful,  this  side  the  threshold,  and  be- 
yond it  so  callous,  so  instinctive,  and  piti- 
less? For  it  is  enough  that  we  should  feel 
the  cold  a  little  less  than  the  labourer  who 
passes  by,  that  we  should  be  better  fed  or 
clad  than  he,  that  we  should  buy  any  object 
that  is  not  strictly  indispensable,  and  we 
have  unconsciously  returned,  through  a 
thousand  byways,  to  the  ruthless  act  of 
60 


Justice 

primitive  man,  despoiling  his  weaker  broth- 
er. There  is  no  single  privilege  we  enjoy 
but  close  investigation  will  prove  it  to  be  the 
result  of  a  perhaps  very  remote  abuse  of 
power,  an  unknown  violence  or  ruse  of  long 
ago ;  and  all  these  we  set  in  motion  again  as 
we  sit  at  our  table,  stroll  idly  through  the 
town,  or  lie  at  night  in  a  bed  that  our  own 
hands  have  not  made.  Nay,  what  is  even 
the  leisure  that  enables  us  to  improve,  to 
grow  more  compassionate  and  gentler,  to 
think  more  fraternally  of  the  injustice 
others  endure — what  is  this,  in  truth,  but 
the  ripest  fruit  of  the  great  injustice? — 
The  Buried  Temple. 

112.  All  men  love  justice,  but  not  with 
the  same  ardent,  fierce,  exclusive  love;  nor 
have  they  all  the  same  scruples,  the  same 
sensitiveness,  or  the  same  deep  conviction. 
We  meet  people  of  highly  developed  intel- 
lect, in  whom  the  sense  of  what  is  just  and 
unjust  is  yet  infinitely  less  delicate,  less  clear- 
61 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

ly  marked,  than  in  others  whose  intellect 
would  seem  to  be  mediocre;  for  here  a 
great  part  is  played  by  that  little  known,  ill- 
defined  side  of  ourselves  that  we  term  the 
character. — The  Buried  Temple. 

113.  Have  we  sounded  all  the  depths  of 
nature,  and  is  it  only  in  our  cerebro-spinal 
system  that  she  becomes  mind?  And  final- 
ly, what  is  justice  when  viewed  from  the 
heights?  Is  the  intention  necessarily  at  its 
centre;  and  can  no  regions  exist  where  in- 
tentions no  longer  shall  count  ?  We  should 
have  to  answer  these  questions,  and  many 
others,  before  we  should  be  able  to  tell 
whether  nature  be  just  or  unjust  from  the 
point  of  view  of  masses  whose  vastness  cor- 
responds to  her  own.  She  disposes  of  a 
future,  a  space,  of  which  we  can  form  no 
conception ;  and  in  these  there  exists,  it  may 
be,  a  justice  proportioned  to  her  duration, 
her  extent  and  her  aim,  even  as  our  own  in- 
stinct of  justice  is  proportioned  to  the  dura- 
62 


Justice 

tion  and  narrow  circle  of  our  own  life.  The 
wrong  that  she  may  for  centuries  commit 
she  has  centuries  in  which  to  repair;  but  we 
who  have  only  a  few  days  before  us,  what 
right  have  we  to  imitate  what  our  eye  can- 
not see,  understand,  or  follow? — The 
Buried  Temple. 

114.  What  right  have  we  to  complain 
of  the  indifference  of  the  universe,  what 
right  to  declare  it  incomprehensible  and 
monstrous?  Why  this  surprise  at  an  in- 
justice in  which  we  ourselves  have  taken  so 
active  a  part?  It  is  true  that  no  trace  of 
justice  can  be  found  in  disease,  accident,  or 
most  of  the  hazards  of  external  life,  which 
fall  indiscriminately  on  the  good  and  the 
wicked,  the  hero  and  the  traitor,  the  pris- 
oner and  the  sister  of  charity.  But  we  are 
far  too  eager  to  include  under  the  title  '  Jus- 
tice of  the  Universe '  many  a  flagrant  act 
that  is  exclusively  human,  and  infinitely 
more  common  and  more  destructive  than 
63 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

disease,  the  hurricane,  or  fire.  I  do  not  al- 
lude to  war;  it  might  be  urged  that  we 
attribute  this  rather  to  the  will  of  the  peo- 
ples or  kings  than  to  nature.  But  poverty, 
for  instance,  which  we  still  rank  with  ir- 
remediable ills,  such  as  shipwreck  or  plague ; 
poverty,  with  all  its  crushing  sorrows  and 
transmitted  degeneration — how  often  may 
this  be  ascribed  to  the  injustice  of  the  ele- 
ments, and  how  often  to  the  injustice  of  our 
social  condition,  which  is  the  crowning  in- 
justice of  man?  Need  we,  at  the  sight  of 
unmerited  wretchedness,  look  to  the  skies 
for  a  reason,  as  though  a  flash  of  lightning 
had  caused  it?  Need  we  seek  an  impene- 
trable, unfathomable  Judge  ?  Is  this  region 
not  our  own ;  are  we  not  here  in  the  best  ex- 
plored, best  known  portion  of  our  domin- 
ion; and  is  it  not  we  who  organise  misery, 
we  who  spread  it  abroad,  as  arbitrarily,  from 
the  moral  point  of  view,  as  fire  and  disease 
scatter  destruction  or  suffering?  Is  it  rea- 
64 


Justice 

sonable  that  we  should  wonder  at  the  sea's 
indifference  to  the  soul-state  of  its  victims, 
when  we  who  have  a  soul,  the  pre-eminent 
organ  of  justice,  pay  no  heed  whatever  to 
the  innocence  of  the  countless  thousands 
whom  we  ourselves  sacrifice,  who  are  our 
own  wretched  victims? — The  Buried  Tem- 
ple. 

115.  Yes,  it  is  open  to  you,  if  you 
choose,  to  regard  as  a  very  poor  thing 
this  unsubstantial  justice;  since  its  only  re- 
ward is  a  vague  satisfaction,  which  even 
grows  hateful,  and  destroys  itself,  the  mo- 
ment its  presence  becomes  too  perceptibly 
felt.  Bear  in  mind,  however,  that  all  things 
that  happen  in  our  moral  being  must  be 
equally  lightly  held,  if  regarded  from  the 
point  of  view  whence  you  deliver  this  judg- 
ment. Love  is  a  paltry  affair,  the  moment 
of  possession  once  over  that  alone  is  real 
and  ensures  the  perpetuity  of  the  race;  and 
yet  we  find  that  as  man  grows  more  civi- 
65 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

Used,  the  act  of  possessioning  assumes  ever 
less  value  in  his  eyes  if  there  go  not  with 
it,  if  there  do  not  precede  and  follow  it, 
this  insignificant  emotion  built  up  of  our 
thoughts  and  our  feelings,  of  our  sweetest 
and  tenderest  hours  and  years.  Beauty, 
too,  is  a  trivial  matter:  a  beautiful  spectacle, 
a  beautiful  face,  or  body,  or  gesture;  a 
melodious  voice,  or  noble  statue — sunrise  at 
sea,  flowers  in  a  garden,  stars  shining  over 
the  forest,  the  river  by  moonlight — or  a 
lofty  thought,  an  exquisite  poem,  an  heroic 
sacrifice  hidden  in  a  profound  and  pitiful 
soul.  We  may  admire  these  things  for  an 
instant;  they  may  bring  us  a  sense  of  com- 
pleteness no  other  joy  can  convey;  but  at 
the  same  time  there  will  steal  over  us  a 
tinge  of  strange  sorrow,  unrest;  nor  will 
they  give  happiness  to  us,  as  men  use  the 
word,  should  other  events  have  contrived 
to  make  us  unhappy.  They  produce  noth- 
ing the  eye  can  measure,  or  weigh ;  nothing 
66 


Justice 

that  others  can  see,  or  will  envy;  and  yet, 
were  a  magician  suddenly  to  appear,  capable 
of  depriving  one  of  us  of  this  sense  of 
beauty  that  may  chance  to  be  in  him,  pos- 
sessed of  the  power  of  extinguishing  it  for 
ever,  with  no  trace  remaining,  no  hope  that 
it  ever  would  spring  into  being  again — 
would  we  not  rather  lose  riches,  tranquillity, 
health  even,  and  many  years  of  our  life, 
than  this  strange  faculty  which  none  can 
espy,  and  we  ourselves  can  scarcely  define  ? 
— The  Buried  Temple. 

1 1 6.  The  injustice  of  nature  ends  by 
becoming  justice  for  the  race;  she  has  time 
before  her,  she  can  wait,  her  injustice  is  of 
her  girth.    But  for  us  it  is  too  overwhelm- 
ing, and  our  days  are  too  few.    Let  us  be 
satisfied  that  force  should  reign  in  the  uni- 
verse,   but    equity    in    our    hearts. — The 
Buried  Temple. 

117.  Man  has  always  endeavoured  to 
justify  his  injustice;  and  when  human  jus- 

67 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

tice  offered  him  no  excuse  or  pretext,  he 
found  in  the  will  of  the  gods  a  law  superior 
to  the  justice  of  man.  But  our  excuse  or 
pretext  of  to-day  is  fraught  with  the  more 
peril  to  our  morality  inasmuch  as  it  re- 
poses on  a  law,  or  at  least  a  habit,  of  nature, 
that  is  far  more  real,  more  incontestable  and 
universal  than  the  will  of  an  ephemeral  and 
local  god. — The  Buried  Temple. 

1 1 8.  We  tell  ourselves — boldly  at  times, 
but  more  often  in  a  whisper — that  we  are 
nature's  children,  and  bound  therefore  in 
all  things  to  conform  to  her  laws  and  copy 
her  example.  And  since  nature  regards 
justice  with  indifference,  since  she  has  an- 
other aim,  which  is  the  sustaining,  the  re- 
newing, the  incessant  development,  of  life, 
it  follows.  ...  So  far  we  have  not 
formulated  the  conclusion,  or,  at  least,  this 
conclusion  has  not  yet  dared  openly  to  force 
its  way  into  our  morality;  but,  although  its 
influence  has  hitherto  only  been  remotely 
68 


Justice 

felt  in  that  familiar  sphere  which  includes 
our  relations,  our  friends,  and  our  imme- 
diate surroundings,  it  is  slowly  penetrating 
into  the  vast  and  desolate  region  whither 
we  relegate  all  those  whom  we  know  not 
and  see  not,  who  for  us  have  no  name.  It 
is  already  to  be  found  at  the  root  of  many 
of  our  actions;  it  has  entered  our  politics, 
our  industry,  our  commerce;  indeed  it  af< 
fects  all  we  do  from  the  moment  we 
emerge  from  the  narrow  circle  of  our  do- 
mestic hearth,  the  only  place  for  the  major- 
ity of  men  where  a  little  veritable  justice  is 
still  to  be  found,  a  little  benevolence,  a  little 
love.  It  will  call  itself  economic  or  social 
law,  evolution,  competition,  struggle  for 
life;  it  will  masquerade  under  a  thousand 
names,  forever  perpetrating  the  selfsame 
wrong. — The  Buried  Temple. 

119.  As  our  physical  organism  was  de- 
vised for  existence  in  the  atmosphere  of  our 
globe,  so  is  our  moral  organism  devised  for 
69 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

existence  in  justice.  Every  faculty  craves 
for  it,  is  more  intimately  bound  up  with  it 
than  with  the  laws  of  gravitation,  of  light 
or  heat;  and  to  throw  ourselves  into  injus- 
tice is  to  plunge  headlong  into  the  hostile 
and  the  unknown. — The  Buried  Temple. 

1 20.  The  man  of  genius  who  forsakes 
the  equity  that  the  humblest  peasant  has  at 
heart  will  find  all  paths  strange  to  him ;  and 
these  will  be  stranger  still  should  he  over- 
step the  limit  his  own  sense  of  justice  im- 
poses; for  the  justice  that  soars  aloft,  keep- 
ing pace  with  the  intellect,  creates  new 
boundaries  around  all  it  throws  open,  while 
at  the  same  time  strengthening  and  render- 
ing more  insurmountable  still  the  ancient 
barriers  of  instinct.  The  moment  we  cross 
the  primitive  frontier  of  equity  all  things 
seem  to  fail  us ;  one  falsehood  gives  birth  to 
a  hundred,  and  treachery  returns  to  us 
through  a  thousand  channels. — The  Buried 
Temple. 

TO 


Justice 

121.  An  act  of  injustice  must  always 
shake  the  confidence  a  man  had  in  himself 
and  his  destiny;  at  a  given  moment,  and 
that  generally  of  the  gravest,  he  has  ceased 
to  rely  upon  himself  alone;  and  this  will 
not  be  forgotten,  nor  will  he  ever  again  be 
wholly  himself.  He  has  confused  and 
probably  corrupted  his  fortune  by  the  intro- 
duction of  strange  powers.  He  has  lost  the 
exact  sense  of  his  personality  and  of  the 
force  that  is  in  him.  He  can  no  longer 
clearly  distinguish  between  what  is  his  own 
and  comes  from  himself,  and  what  he  is 
constantly  borrowing  from  the  pernicious 
collaborators  whom  his  weakness  has  sum- 
moned. He  has  ceased  to  be  the  general 
who  has  none  but  disciplined  soldiers  in  the 
army  of  his  thoughts;  he  becomes  the 
usurping  chief  around  whom  are  only  ac- 
complices. He  has  forsworn  the  dignity 
of  the  man  who  will  have  none  of  the  glory 
at  which  his  heart  can  only  smile  as  sadly  as 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

an  ardent,  unhappy  lover  would  smile  at  a 
faithless  mistress. — The  Buried  Temple. 

122.  Napoleon  committed  three  crown- 
ing acts  of  injustice :  three  celebrated  crimes 
that  were  so  fatally  unjust  to  his  own  for- 
tune. The  first  was  the  murder  of  the  Due 
d'Enghien,  condemned  by  order,  without 
trial  or  proof,  and  executed  in  the  trenches 
of  Vincennes, — an  assassination  that  sowed 
insatiable  hatred  and  vengeance  in  the  path 
of  the  guilty  dictator.  Then  the  detestable 
intrigues  whereby  he  lured  the  too  trustful, 
easy-going  Bourbons  to  Bayonne,  that  he 
might  rob  them  of  their  hereditary  crown; 
and  the  horrible  war  that  ensued,  a  war  that 
cost  the  lives  of  three  hundred  thousand 
men,  swallowed  up  all  the  morality  and 
energy  of  the  empire,  most  of  its  prestige, 
almost  all  its  convictions,  almost  all  the 
devotion  it  inspired,  and  engulfed  its  pros- 
perous destiny.  And  finally  the  frightful, 
unpardonable  Russian  campaign,  wherein 
72 


Justice 

his  fortune  came  at  last  to  utter  shipwreck 
amid  the  ice  of  the  Berezina  and  the  snow- 
bound Polish  steppes. 

'  These  prodigious  catastrophes,'  I  said, 
'  had  numberless  causes ;  but  when  we  have 
slowly  traced  our  way  through  all  the  more 
or  less  unforeseen  circumstances,  have 
marked  the  gradual  change  in  Napoleon's 
character,  and  noted  the  acts  of  imprudence, 
folly,  and  violence  which  this  genius  com- 
mitted ;  when  we  have  seen  how  deliberately 
he  brought  disaster  to  his  smiling  fortune, 
may  we  not  almost  believe  that  what  we 
behold,  standing  erect  at  the  very  fountain- 
head  of  calamity,  is  no  other  than  the  silent 
shadow  of  misunderstood  human  justice? 
Human  justice,  possessing  nothing  super- 
natural, nothing  very  mysterious;  built  up 
of  many  thousand  very  real  little  incidents, 
many  thousand  falsehoods,  many  thousand 
little  offences,  of  which  each  one  gave  rise 
to  a  corresponding  act  of  retaliation — hu- 
7* 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

man  justice,  and  not  a  power  that  suddenly, 
at  some  tragic  moment,  leaps  forth  like 
Minerva  of  old,  fully  armed,  from  the 
formidable,  despotic  brow  of  destiny.  In 
all  this  there  is  only  one  thing  of  mystery, 
and  that  is  the  eternal  presence  of  human 
justice.' — The  Buried  Temple. 


74 


IV 

MORALITY 


IV 
MORALITY 

THE  instinct  of  happiness  within  us 
needs  no  telling  that  he  who  is  moral- 
ly right  must  be  happier  than  he  who  is 
wrong,  though  the  wrong  be  done  from  the 
height  of  a  throne. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

1 24.  To  attribute  morality  to  fate  is  but 
to  lessen  the  purity  of  our  ideal;  to  admit 
the  injustice  of  fate  is  to  throw  open  before 
us  the  ever-widening  fields  of  a  still  loftier 
morality. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

125.  Even  though  a  moral  law  seem  on 
the  eve  of  disappearing,  we  need  have  no 
cause  for  disquiet;  its  place  will  be  speedily 
filled  by  a  law  that  is  greater  still. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

126.  Let  us  not  forget  that  it  is  from 
the  very  non-morality  of  destiny  that  a 
nobler  morality  must  spring  into  life;  for 

77 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

here,  as  everywhere,  man  is  never  so  strong 
with  his  own  native  strength  as  when  he 
realises  that  he  stands  entirely  alone. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

127.  It  is  a  particular  form  of  life  that 
we  represent  on  this  planet — the  life  of 
feeling  and  thought;    whence  it   follows 
perhaps  that  all  that  inclines  to  weaken 
the  ardour  of  feeling  and  thought  is,  in 
its  essence,  immoral. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

128.  The  time  must  come,   sooner  or 
later,  when  our  morality  will  have  to  con- 
form to  the  probable  mission  of  the  race, 
and  the  arbitrary,  often  ridiculous,  restric- 
tions whereof  it  is  at  present  composed  will 
be  compelled  to  make  way  for  the  inevi- 
table, logical  restrictions  this  mission  exacts. 
For  the  individual,  as  for  the  race,  there 
can  be  but  one  code  of  morals — the  sub- 
ordination of  the  methods  of  life  to  the 
demands  of  the  general  mission  that  ap- 

78 


Morality 

pears  entrusted  to  man.  The  axis  will  shift, 
therefore,  of  many  sins,  many  great  of- 
fences; until  at  last  for  all  the  crimes 
against  the  body  there  shall  be  substituted 
the  veritable  crimes  against  human  destiny : 
in  other  words,  whatever  may  tend  to  im- 
pair the  authority,  integrity,  leisure,  liberty, 
or  power  of  the  intellect. — The  Buried 
Temple. 

129.  Man's  moral  value  is  doubtless  es- 
tablished by  the  number  of  duties  he  sees 
and  sets  forth  to  accomplish. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

130.  It  is  given  to  very  few  hearts  to 
be  naTvely  perfect,  nor  should  we  go  seek 
in  them  for  the  laws  of  duty. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

131.  'Of  what   avail   are   my   loftiest 
thoughts  if  I  have  ceased  to  exist?'  there 
are  some  will  ask;  to  whom  others,  it  may 
be,  will  answer,  '  What  becomes  of  myself 
if  all  that  I  love  in  my  heart  and  my  spirit 

79 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

must  die,  that  my  life  may  be  saved  ?  '  And 
are  not  almost  all  morals,  and  heroism,  and 
virtue  of  man  summed  up  in  that  single 
choice  ? — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

132.  Ennoblement  comes  to  man  in  the 
degree  that  his  consciousness  quickens,  and 
the  nobler  the  man  has  become,  the  pro- 
founder  must  consciousness  be.    Admirable 
exchange  takes  place  here ;  and  even  as  love 
is  insatiable  in  its  craving  for  love,  so  is 
consciousness  insatiable  in  its  craving  for 
growth,   for  moral  uplifting:  and  moral 
uplifting  forever  is  yearning  for  conscious- 
ness.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

133.  As  you  climb  up  a  mountain  to- 
wards nightfall,  the  trees  and  the  houses, 
the  steeple,  the  fields  and  the  orchards,  the 
road  and  even  the   river,   will  gradually 
dwindle  and  fade,  and  at  last  disappear  in 
the  gloom  that  steals  over  the  valley.    But 
the  threads  of  light  that  shine  from  the 
houses   of   men   and   pierce   through    the 

80 


Morality 

blackest  of  nights,  these  shine  on  un- 
dimmed.  And  every  step  that  you  take  to 
the  summit  reveals  more,  and  more  in  the 
hamlets  asleep  at  your  foot.  For  light, 
though  so  fragile,  is  perhaps  the  one  thing 
of  all  that  yields  naught  of  itself  as  it  faces 
immensity.  Thus  it  is  with  our  moral  light 
too,  when  we  look  upon  life  from  some 
slight  elevation.  It  is  well  that  reflection 
should  teach  us  to  disburden  our  soul  of 
base  passions;  but  it  should  not  discourage, 
or  weaken,  our  humblest  desire  for  justice, 
for  truth,  and  for  love. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

134.  Marcus  Aurelius — than  whom  per- 
haps none  ever  craved  more  earnestly  for 
justice,  or  possessed  a  soul  more  wisely  im- 
pressionable, more  nobly  sensitive — Marcus 
Aurelius  never  asked  himself  what  might 
be  happening  outside  that  admirable  little 
circle  of  light  wherein  his  virtue  and  con- 
sciousness, his  divine  meekness  and  piety, 
81 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

had  gathered  those  who  were  near  him,  his 
friends  and  his  servants.  Infinite  iniquity, 
he  knew  full  well,  stretched  around  him  on 
every  side;  but  with  this  he  had  no  con- 
cern. To  him  it  seemed  a  thing  that  must 
be,  mysterious  and  sacred  as  the  mighty 
ocean;  the  boundless  domain  of  the  gods, 
of  fatality,  of  laws  unknown  and  superior, 
irresistible,  irresponsible,  and  eternal.  It 
did  not  lessen  his  courage;  on  the  contrary, 
it  enhanced  his  confidence,  his  concentra- 
tion, and  spurred  him  upwards,  like  the 
flame  that,  confined  to  a  narrow  area,  rises 
higher  and  higher,  alone  in  the  night,  urged 
on  by  the  darkness.  He  accepted  the  de- 
cree of  fate,  that  allotted  slavery  to  the 
bulk  of  mankind.  Sorrowfully,  but  with 
full  conviction,  did  he  submit  to  the  irre- 
vocable law;  wherein  he  once  again  gave 
proof  of  his  piety  and  his  virtue.  He  re- 
tired into  himself;  and  there,  in  a  kind  of 
sunless,  motionless  void,  became  still  more 
82 


Morality 

just,    still    more    humane. — The    Burled 
Temple. 

135.  The  great  mischief,  the  one  which 
destroys  our  moral  existence  and  threatens 
the  integrity  of  our  mind  and  our  character, 
is  not  that  we  should  deceive  ourselves  and 
love  an  uncertain  truth,  but  that  we  should 
remain  constant  to  one  in  which  we  no  long- 
er wholly  believe. — The  Buried  Temple. 

136.  When  we  say  that  nature  is  unjust, 
we  are  in  effect  complaining  of  her  indif- 
ference to  our  own  little  virtues,  our  own 
little  intentions,   our  own  little  deeds  of 
heroism ;  and  it  is  our  vanity  far  more  than 
our  sense  of  equity  that  considers  itself 
aggrieved.     Our  morality  is  proportionate 
to  our  nature  and  our  restricted  destiny;  nor 
have  we  the  right  to  forsake  it  because  it  is 
not  on  the  scale  of  the  immensity  and  in- 
finite destiny  of  the  universe. — The  Burled 
Temple. 

137.  In  truth  all  our  justice,  morality, 

83 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

all  our  thoughts  and  feelings,  derive  from 
three  or  four  primordial  necessities,  where- 
of the  principal  one  is  food.  The  least 
modification  of  one  of  these  necessities 
would  entail  a  marked  change  in  our  moral 
existence.  Were  the  belief  one  day  to  be- 
come general  that  man  could  nourish  him- 
self without  animal  food,  there  would 
ensue  not  only  a  great  economic  revolution 
and  change, — for  a  bullock,  to  produce  one 
pound  of  meat,  consumes  more  than  a  hun- 
dred pounds  of  provender, — but  a  moral 
improvement  as  well;  for  we  find  that  the 
man  who  abandons  the  regimen  of  meat 
abandons  alcohol  also;  and  to  do  this  is  to 
renounce  most  of  the  coarser  and  degraded 
pleasures  of  life.  And  it  is  in  the  passionate 
craving  for  these  pleasures,  in  their 
glamour,  and  the  prejudice  they  create, 
that  the  most  formidable  obstacle  is  found 
to  the  harmonious  development  of  the  race. 
— The  Buried  Temple. 
84 


Morality 

138.  It  is  the  way  in  which  hours  of  free- 
dom are  spent  that  determines,  as  much  as 
war  or  as  labour,  the  moral  worth  of  a 
nation.    It  raises  or  lowers,  it  replenishes  or 
exhausts.    At  present  we  find,  in  these  great 
cities  of  ours,  that  three  days'  idleness  will 
fill  the  hospitals  with  victims  whom  weeks 
or  months  of  toil  had  left  unscathed. — The 
Buried  Temple.. 

139.  Some  men  there  are  whose  virtue 
issues  from  them  with  a  noise  of  clanging 
gates;  in  others  it  dwells  as  silent  as  the 
maid  who  never  stirs  from  home,  but  sits 
thoughtfully  by  the  fireside,  always  ready 
to  welcome  those  who  enter  from  the  cold 
without. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

140.  Above  all,  let  us  never  forget  that 
an  act  of  goodness  is  of  itself  always  an  act 
of  happiness.     It  is  the  flower  of  a  long 
inner  life  of  joy  and  contentment;  it  tells 
of  peaceful  hours  and  days  on  the  sunniest 
heights  of  our  soul. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

85 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

141.  It  is  possible,  perhaps,  that  to  be 
good  is  only  to  be  in  a  little  light  what  all 
are   in   darkness. — The    Treasure   of   the 
Humble. 

142.  Hostile  forces  at  once  take  posses- 
sion of  all  that  is  vacant  within  us,  nor  filled 
by  the  strength  of  our  soul ;  and  whatever  is 
void  in  the  heart  or  the  mind  becomes  a 
fountain  of  fatal  influence. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

143.  There  may  be  human  joy  in  doing 
good  with  definite  purpose,  but  they  who 
do  good  expecting  nothing  know  a  joy  that 
is  divine.     Where  we  do  evil  our  reasons 
mostly  are  known  to  us,  but  our  good  deed 
becomes  the  purer  for  our  ignorance  of  its 
motive. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

144.  The  slightest  act  of  justice  or  love 
demands  a  very  torrent  of  desire  for  good. 
For  our  conduct  only  to  be  honest  we  must 
have  thoughts  within  us  ten  times  loftier 
than  our  conduct.    Even  to  keep  somewhat 

86 


Morality 

clear  of  evil  bespeaks  enormous  craving  for 
good.  Of  all  the  forces  in  the  world  there 
is  none  melts  so  quickly  away  as  the  thought 
that  has  to  descend  into  everyday  life; 
wherefore  we  must  needs  be  heroic  in 
thought  for  our  deeds  to  pass  muster,  or  at 
the  least  be  harmless. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

145.  All  that  is  best  in  the  good  that  at 
this  day  is  being  done  round  about  us,  was 
conceived  in  the  spirit  of  one  of  those  who 
neglected,  it  may  be,  many  an  urgent,  im- 
mediate duty  in  order  to  think,  to  commune 
with  themselves,  in  order  to  speak. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

146.  We  no  longer  believe  in  the  ideals 
once  held  by  saints,  and  we  are  confident 
that  a  wise  God  will  hold  of  as  little  account 
the  duty  done  through  hope  of  recompense, 
as  the  evil  done  for  sake  of  gain;  and  this 
even  though  the  recompense  hoped  for  be 
nothing  but  the  self-ensuing  peace  of  mind. 

87 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

We  say  that  God,  who  must  be  at  least  as 
high  as  the  highest  thoughts  He  has  im- 
planted in  the  best  of  men,  will  withhold 
His  smile  from  those  who  have  desired  but 
to  please  Him ;  and  that  they  only  who  have 
done  good  for  the  sake  of  good  and  as 
though  He  existed  not,  they  only  who  have 
loved  virtue  more  than  they  have  loved  God 
Himself,  shall  be  allowed  to  stand  by  His 
side. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

147.  In  a  morbid  virtue  there  is  often 
more  harm  than  there  is  in  a  healthy  vice. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

148.  To  commit  an  act  of  injustice  is  to 
prove  that  we  have  not  yet  attained  the 
happiness  within  our  grasp.     And  in  evil, 
if  we  reduce  things  to  their  primal  elements, 
we  find  that  even  the  wicked  are  seeking 
some  measure  of  peace,  a  certain  up-lifting 
of  soul.    They  may  think  themselves  happy, 
and  rejoice  for  such  dole  as  may  come  to 
them;  but  would  it  have  satisfied  Marcus 

88 


Morality 

Aurelius,  who  knew  the  lofty  tranquillity, 
the  great  quickening  of  the  soul  ?  Show  a 
vast  lake  to  the  child  who  has  never  beheld 
the  sea,  it  will  clap  its  hands  and  be  glad, 
and  think  the  sea  is  before  it;  but  therefore 
none  the  less  does  the  veritable  sea  exist. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

149.  In  this  world  it  is  far  more  certain 
that  vice  will  be  punished,  than  that  virtue 
will  meet  with  reward ;  yet  we  must  bear  in 
mind  that  it  is  the  habit  of  crime  to  shriek 
aloud  beneath  its  punishment,  whereas  vir- 
tue rewards  itself  in  the  silence  that  is  the 
walled  garden  of  its  happiness. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

150.  Let  us  sometimes,  in  our  medita- 
tions, bring  our  desire  for  moral  perfection 
to  the  level  of  daily  truth,  and  be  taught 
how  far  easier  it  is  to  confer  occasional 
benefit  than  never  to  do  any  harm ;  to  bring 
occasional  happiness  than  never  be  cause 
of  tears. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

89 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

151.  A  good  thought  or  deed  brings  a 
reward  to  our  heart  that  it  cannot,  in  the 
absence  of  a  universal  judge  of  nature,  ex- 
tend to  the  things  around.     It  endeavours 
to  create  within  us  the  happiness  it  is  unable 
to  produce  in  our  material  life.    Denied  all 
external  outlet,  it  fills  our  soul  the  more. 
— The  Buried  Temple. 

152.  Let  us  not  resent  the  misfortunes 
that  sometimes  befall  virtue,  lest  we  at  the 
same  time  disturb  the  limpid  essence  of  its 
happiness. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

153.  There  is  more  active  charity  in  the 
egoism  of  a  strenuous,  far-seeing  soul  than 
in  all  the  devotion  of  the  soul  that  is  help- 
less and  blind. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 


V 

SILENCE 


SILENCE 

THERE  is  an  instinct  of  the  super- 
human truths  within  us  which  warns 
us  that  it  is  dangerous  to  be  silent  with  one 
whom  we  do  not  wish  to  know,  or  do  not 
love. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

155.  It  is  idle  to  think  that,  by  means  of 
words,  any  real  communication  can  ever 
pass  from  one  man  to  another.  The  lips  or 
the  tongue  may  represent  the  soul,  even  as 
a  cipher  or  a  number  may  represent  a  pic- 
ture by  Memlincg;  but  from  the  moment 
that  we  have  something  to  say  to  each  other, 
we  are  compelled  to  hold  our  peace;  and  if 
at  such  times  we  do  not  listen  to  the  urgent 
commands  of  silence,  invisible  though  they 
be,  we  shall  have  suffered  an  eternal  loss 
that  all  the  treasures  of  human  wisdom  can- 
not make  good;  for  we  shall  have  let  slip 
93 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

the  opportunity  of  listening  to  another  soul, 
and  of  giving  existence,  be  it  only  for  an 
instant,  to  our  own;  and  many  lives  there 
are  in  which  such  opportunities  do  not  pre- 
sent themselves  twice.  .  .  . — The  Treas- 
ure of  the  Humble. 

156.  We  cannot  conceive  what  sort  of 
man  is  he  who  has  never  been  silent.     It  is 
to  us  as  though  his  soul  were  featureless. 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

157.  Thousands  and  thousands  of  things 
quiver  in  silence  on  the  lips  of  true  friend- 
ship and  love,  that  are  not  to  be  found  in 
the  silence  of  other  lips,  to  which  friendship 
and  love  are  unknown. — The  Treasure  of 
the  Humble. 

158.  Remember  the  day  on  which,  with- 
out fear  in  your  heart,  you  met  your  first 
silence.     The  dread  hour  had  sounded; 
silence  went  before  your  soul.     You  saw 
it  rising  from  the  unspeakable  abysses  of 
life,  from  the  depths  of  the  inner  sea  of 

94 


Silence 

horror  or  beauty,  and  you  did  not  fly. 
It  was  at  a  home-coming,  on  the 
threshold  of  a  departure,  in  the  midst  of 
a  great  joy,  at  the  pillow  of  a  death-bed, 
on  the  approach  of  a  dire  misfortune.  Be- 
think you  of  those  moments  when  all  the 
secret  jewels  shone  forth  on  you,  and  the 
slumbering  truths  sprung  to  life;  and  tell 
me  whether  silence,  then,  was  not  good  and 
necessary,  whether  the  caresses  of  the  enemy 
you  had  so  persistently  shunned  were  not 
truly  divine? — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

159.  There  are  as  many  eternal  minutes 
in  the  week  that  goes  by  in  silence,  as  in 
the  one  that  comes  boldly  towards  us  with 
mighty  shout  and  clamour. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

1 60.  There  is  an  instinct  of  the  super- 
human truths  within  us  which  warns  us 
that  it  Is  dangerous  to  be  silent  with  one 
whom  we  do  not  wish  to  know,  or  do  not 

95 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

love:  for  words  may  pass  between  men,  but 
let  silence  have  had  its  instant  of  activity, 
and  it  will  never  efface  itself;  and  indeed 
the  true  life,  the  only  life  that  leaves  a 
trace  behind,  is  made  up  of  silence  alone. 
Bethink  it  well,  in  that  silence  to  which 
you  must  again  have  recourse,  so  that  it 
may  explain  itself,  by  itself;  and  if  it  be 
granted  to  you  to  descend  for  one  moment 
into  your  soul,  into  the  depths  where  the 
angels  dwell,  it  is  not  the  words  spoken  by 
the  creature  you  loved  so  dearly  that  you 
will  recall,  or  the  gestures  that  he  made,  but 
it  is,  above  all,  the  silences  that  you  have 
lived  together  that  will  come  back  to  you: 
for  it  is  the  quality  of  those  silences  that 
alone  revealed  the  quality  of  your  love  and 
your  souls. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 
1 6 1.  We  can  bear,  when  need  must  be, 
the  silence  of  ourselves,  that  of  isolation: 
but  the  silence  of  many — silence  multiplied 
— and  above  all  the  silence  of  a  crowd — 
96 


Silence 

these  are  supernatural  burdens,  whose  in- 
explicable weight  brings  dread  to  the  might- 
iest soul. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

162.  There  are  men  in  whose  presence 
the  greatest  of  heroes  would  not  dare  to  be 
silent;  and  even  the  soul  that  has  nothing 
to  conceal  trembles  lest  another  should  dis- 
cover  its   secret. — The    Treasure   of    the 
Humble. 

163.  Some  there  are  that  have  no  silence, 
and  that  kill  the  silence  around  them,  and 
these    are    the    only    creatures    that    pass 
through  life  unperceived. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

164.  '  We  do  not  know  each  other  yet,' 
wrote  to  me  one  whom  I  hold  dear  above 
all  others ;  '  we  have  not  yet  dared  to  be 
silent  together.'     And  it  was  true :  already 
did  we  love  each  other  so  deeply  that  we 
shrank  from  the  superhuman  ordeal.    And 
each  time  that  silence  fell  upon  us — the 
angel  of  the  supreme  truth,  the  messenger 

97 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

that  brings  to  the  heart  the  tidings  of  the 
unknown — each  time  did  we  feel  that  our 
souls  were  craving  mercy  on  their  knees, 
were  begging  for  a  few  hours  more  of 
innocent  falsehood,  a  few  hours  of  ignor- 
ance, a  few  hours  of  childhood. 
And  none  the  less  must  its  hour  come.  It  is 
the  sun  of  love,  and  it  ripens  the  fruit  of 
the  soul,  as  the  sun  of  heaven  ripens  the 
fruits  of  the  earth. — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

165.  Though  all  words  may  be  akin, 
every  silence  differs  from  its  fellow;  and, 
with  rare  exceptions,  it  is  an  entire  destiny 
that  will  be  governed  by  the  quality  of  this 
first  silence  which  is  descending  upon  two 
souls.  They  blend:  we  know  not  where, 
for  the  reservoirs  of  silence  lie  far  above 
the  reservoirs  of  thought,  and  the  strange 
resultant  brew  is  either  sinisterly  bitter  or 
profoundly  sweet. — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

98 


Silence 

1 66.  In  the  lives  of  most  of  us,  it  will 
not  happen  more  than  twice  or  thrice  that 
silence  is  really  understood  and  freely  ad- 
mitted.— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

167.  No  sooner  are  the  lips  still  than  the 
soul  awakens,  and  sets  forth  on  its  labours ; 
for  silence  is  an  element  that  is  full  of  sur- 
prises, danger  and  happiness,  and  in  these 
the  soul  possesses  itself  in  freedom.     If  it 
be  indeed  your  desire  to  give  yourself  over 
to  another,  be  silent;  and  if  you  fear  being 
silent  with  him — unless  this  fear  be  the 
proud  uncertainty,  or  hunger,  of  the  love 
that  yearns  for  prodigies — fly  from  him, 
for  your  soul  knows  well  how  far  it  may  go. 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

1 68.  The  kisses  of  the  silence  of  mis- 
fortune— and  it  is  above  all  at  times  of 
misfortune   that   silence    caresses   us — can 
never  be  forgotten. — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

169.  It  is  not  silence  that  determines 

99 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

and  fixes  the  savour  of  love? — The  Treas- 
ure of  the  Humble. 

170.  There  is  no  silence  more  docile 
than  the  silence  of  love,  and  it  is  indeed  the 
only  one  that  we  may  claim  for  ourselves 
alone.  The  other  great  silences,  those  of 
death,  grief,  or  destiny,  do  not  belong  to 
us.  They  come  towards  us  at  their  own 
hour,  following  in  the  track  of  events,  and 
those  whom  they  do  not  meet  need  not  re- 
proach themselves.  But  we  can  all  go 
forth  to  meet  the  silences  of  love.  They 
lie  in  wait  for  us,  night  and  day,  at  our 
threshold,  and  are  no  less  beautiful  than 
their  brothers.  And  it  is  thanks  to  them 
that  those  who  have  seldom  wept  may  know 
the  life  of  the  soul  almost  as  intimately  as 
those  to  whom  much  grief  has  come:  and 
therefore  it  is  that  such  of  us  as  have  loved 
deeply  have  learnt  many  secrets  that  are 
unknown  to  others. — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

100 


Silence 

171.  Were  I  to  speak  to  you  at  this  mo- 
ment of  the  gravest  things  of  all — of  love, 
death  or  destiny — it  is  not  love,  death  or 
destiny  that  I  should  touch ;  and,  my  efforts 
notwithstanding,   there  would   always  re- 
main between  us  a  truth  which  had  not  been 
spoken,  which  we  had  not  even  thought  of 
speaking,  and  yet  it  is  this  truth  only,  voice- 
less though  it  has  been,  which  will  have 
lived  with  us  for  an  instant,  and  by  which 
we  shall  have  been  wholly  absorbed.     For 
that    truth    was    our    truth    as    regards 
death,  destiny  or  love,  and  it  was  in  silence 
only  that  we  could  perceive  it.     And  noth- 
ing save  only  the  silence  will  have  had 
any    importance. — The    Treasure    of    the 
Humble. 

172.  '  My  sisters,'  says  a  child  in  the 
fairy-story,  *  you  have  each  of  you  a  secret 
thought — I  wish  to  know  it.'     We,  too, 
have  something  that  people  wish  to  know, 
but  it  is  hidden  far  above  the  secret  thought 

101 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

— it  is  our  secret  silence. — The  Treasure  of 
the  Humble. 

173.  As  gold  and  silver  are  weighed  in 
pure  water,  so  does  the  soul  test  its  weight 
in  silence,  and  the  words  that  we  let  fall 
have  no  meaning  apart  fiom  the  silence 
that  wraps  them  round.    If  I  tell  some  one 
that  I  love  him — as  I  may  have  told  a  hun- 
dred others — my  words  will  convey  nothing 
to  him;  but  the  silence  which  will  ensue,  if 
I  do  indeed  love  him,  will  make  clear  in 
what  depths  lie  the  roots  of  my  love,  and 
will  in  its  turn  give  birth  to  a  conviction, 
that  shall  itself  be  silent ;  and  in  the  course 
of  a  lifetime,  this  silence  and  this  convic- 
tion will  never  again  be  the  same.     «     .     . 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

1 74.  '  It  is  in  the  silence  that  follows  the 
storm,'  says  a  Hindu  proverb,  *  and  not  in 
the  silence  before  it,  that  we  should  search 
for   the   budding    flower.' — Wisdom    and 
Destiny. 

102 


Silence 

175.  So  far  I  have  considered  active 
silence  only,  for  there  is  a  passive  silence, 
which  is  the  shadow  of  sleep,  of  death  or 
non-existence.    It  is  the  silence  of  lethargy, 
and  is  even  less  to  be  dreaded  than  speech, 
so  long  as  it  slumbers;  but  beware  lest  a 
sudden  incident  awake  it,  for  then  would 
its  brother,  the  great  active  silence,  at  once 
rear  himself  upon  his  throne.     Be  on  your 
guard.     Two  souls  would  draw  near  each 
other:  the  barriers  would  fall  asunder,  the 
gates  fly  open,  and  the  life  of  every  day 
be  replaced  by  a  life  of  deepest  earnest, 
wherein  all  are  defenceless;  a  life  in  which 
laughter  dares  not  show  itself,  in  which 
there  is  no  obeying,  in  which  nothing  can 
evermore    be    forgotten.      .      .      . — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

176.  Two  souls,  admirable  both  and  of 
equal  power,  may  yet  give  birth  to  a  hostile 
silence,  and  wage  pitiless  war  against  each 
other  in  the  darkness;  while  it  may  be  that 

103 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

the  soul  of  a  convict  shall  go  forth  and 
commune  in  divine  silence  with  the  soul  of 
a  virgin.  The  result  can  never  be  foretold ; 
all  this  comes  to  pass  in  a  heaven  that  never 
warns ;  and  therefore  it  is  that  the  tenderest 
of  lovers  will  often  defer  to  the  last  hour 
of  all  the  solemn  entry  of  the  great  re- 
vealer  of  the  depths  of  our  being.  .  .  . 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

177.  The   human   soul   is   very   silent. 
The  human   soul  loves  to   be 
alone  when  its  last  hour  has  come.        .      .. 
— Pelleas  and  Melisande, 


104 


VI 

DESTINY  AND  FATALITY 


iVI 
DESTINY  AND  FATALITY 

LOFTY  thoughts  suffice  not  always  to 
overcome  destiny;  for  against  these 
destiny  can  oppose  thoughts  that  are  loftier 
still;  but  what  destiny  has  ever  withstood 
thoughts  that  are  simple  and  good,  thoughts 
that  are  tender  and  loyal? — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

179.  Is  our  true  destiny  to  be  found  in 
the  things  which  take  place  about  us,  or 
in  that  which  abides  in  our  soul  ? — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

1 80.  Instinct  and  destiny  are  for  ever 
conferring  together;  they  support  one  an- 
other, and  rove,  hand  in  hand,  round  the 
man  who  is  not  on  his  guard.     And  who- 
ever is  able  to  curb  the  blind  force  of  in- 
stinct within  him  is  able  to  curb  the  force 
of    external    destiny    also. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

107 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

1 8 1.  The  breath  of  air  by  the  door  I 
opened,   one  evening,   was  forever  to  ex- 
tinguish my  happiness,   as  it  would  have 
extinguished  a  flickering  lamp;  and  now, 
when  I  think  of  it,  I  cannot  tell  myself 
that  I  did  not  know.      .      .      .      And  yet, 
it  was  nothing  important  that  had  taken  me 
to  the  threshold.     I  could  have  gone  away 
shrugging    my    shoulders;    there    was    no 
human  reason  that  could  force  me  to  knock 
on  the  panel.     No  human  reason,  nothing 
but  destiny.     .     .     .    — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

182.  That  destiny  is  beautiful  wherein 
each  event,   though  charged  with  joy  or 
sadness,  has  brought  reflection  to  us,  has 
added  something  to  our  range  of  soul,  has 
given  us  greater  peace  wherewith  to  cling 
to  life. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

183.  At  Erfurt,  in  his  famous  interview 
with   Goethe,    Napoleon   is   said   to   have 
spoken   disparagingly   of   the    dramas    in 

108 


Destiny  and  Fatality 

which  fatality  plays  a  great  part, — the  plays 
that  we,  in  our  '  passion  for  calamity,'  are 
apt  to  consider  the  finest.  '  They  belong,' 
he  remarked,  '  to  an  epoch  of  darkness ;  but 
how  can  fatality  touch  us  to-day?  Policy 
— that  is  fatality ! '  Napoleon's  dictum  is 
not  very  profound;  policy  is  only  the  merest 
fragment  of  fatality;  and  his  destiny  soon 
made  it  manifest  to  him  that  the  desire  to 
contain  fatality  within  the  narrow  bounds 
of  policy  was  no  more  than  a  vain  en- 
deavour to  imprison  in  a  fragile  vase  the 
mightiest  of  the  spiritual  rivers  that  bathe 
our  globe.  And  yet,  incomplete  as  this 
thought  of  Napoleon's  may  have  been,  it 
still  throws  some  light  on  the  tributary  of 
the  great  river.  It  was  a  little  thing,  per- 
haps, but  on  these  uncertain  shores  it  is  the 
difference  between  a  little  thing  and  nothing 
that  kindles  the  energy  of  man  and  confirms 
his  destiny.  By  this  ray  of  light,  such  as 

it  was,  he  long  was  enabled  to  dominate  all 

109 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

that  portion  of  the  unknown  which  he  de- 
clined to  term  fatality. — The  Buried  Tem- 
ple. 

184.  Fatality  does  not  leap  forth  at  a 
given  moment  from  an  inexorable,   inac- 
cessible, unfathomable  abyss.     It  is  built 
up  of  the  energy,  the  desires  and  suffering, 
the  thoughts  and  passions  of  our  brothers; 
and  these  passions  should  be  well  known 
to  us,  for  they  differ  not  from  our  own. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

185.  Real  fatality  exists  only  in  certain 
external  disasters, — as  disease,  accident,  the 
sudden  death  of  those  we  love;  but  inner 
fatality  there  is  none. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

1 8 6.  Speak   not   of   destiny   when   the 
event  that  has  brought  you  joy  or  sadness 
has  still  altered  nothing  in  your  manner 
of  regarding  the  universe.     All  that  re- 
mains to  us  when  love  and  glory  are  over, 
when  adventures  and  passions  have  faded 

no 


Destiny  and  Fatality 

into  the  past,  is  but  a  deeper  and  ever  deep- 
ening sense  of  the  infinite;  and  if  we  have 
not  that  within  us,  then  are  we  destitute 
indeed. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

187.  Not  by  the  extent  of  empire  is  the 
range  of  destiny  governed,  but,  indeed,  by 
the  depth  of  our  soul. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

1 8  8.  It  happens  to  the  majority  of  men 
as  with  a  little  bewildered  stream  I  chanced 
to  espy  one  evening  as  I  stood  on  the  hill- 
side. I  beheld  it  far  down  in  the  valley, 
staggering,  struggling,  climbing,  falling: 
blindly  groping  its  way  to  the  great  lake 
that  slumbered,  the  other  side  of  the  forest, 
in  the  peace  of  the  dawn.  Here  it  was  a 
block  of  basalt  that  forced  the  streamlet  to 
wind  round  and  about  four  times ;  there,  the 
roots  of  a  hoary  tree;  further  on  still,  the 
mere  recollection  of  an  obstacle,  now  gone 
for  ever4  thrust  it  back  to  its  source,  bab- 
bling in  impotent  fury,  divided  for  all  time 
in 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

from  its  goal  and  its  gladness.  But,  in 
another  direction,  at  right  angles  almost  to 
the  distraught,  unhappy,  useless  stream,  a 
force  superior  to  the  force  of  instinct  had 
traced  a  long,  greenish  canal,  calm,  peace- 
ful, deliberate;  that  flowed  steadily  across 
the  country,  across  the  crumbling  stones, 
across  the  obedient  forest,  on  its  clear  and 
unerring,  unhurrying  way  from  its  distant 
source  on  the  horizon  to  the  same  tranquil, 
shining  lake.  And  I  had  at  my  feet  before 
me  the  image  of  the  two  great  destinies 
offered  to  man. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

189.  Each  century  holds  another  sorrow 
dear,  for  each  century  discerns  another  des- 
tiny.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

190.  All    destinies    arc    forever    com- 
mingling;  and   the   adventure   is   rare   in 
whose  web  the  hempen  thread  blends  not 
with  the  golden. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

191.  There  are,  I  know,  many  things 
more  beautiful  than  tears,  and  it  were  often 

112 


Destiny  and  Fatality 

better  not  to  cry.  .  .  .  But  when  our 
tears  flow,  notwithstanding  all  our  efforts, 
then  must  we  needs  believe  in  the  truth  of 
them,  and  tell  ourselves  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  them  truer  still  than  all  the  things 
of  beauty  we  see  above  them. 
For,  look  you,  Selysette,  it  is  often  destiny 
that  speaks  through  our  tears,  and  it  is  per- 
haps from  out  the  very  depths  of  the  future 
that  they  flow  into  our  eyes. — Aglavaine 
and  Selysette. 

192.  There  is  in  Flanders  a  breed  of 
draught-dogs  upon  which  destiny  alterna- 
tively lavishes  her  favour  and  her  spite. 
Some  will  be  bought  by  a  butcher,  and  lead 
a  magnificent  life.  The  work  is  trifling: 
in  the  morning,  harnessed  four  abreast,  they 
draw  a  light  cart  to  the  slaughter-house; 
and  at  night,  galloping  joyously,  triumph- 
antly, home  through  the  narrow  streets  of 
the  ancient  towns  with  their  tiny,  lit-up 
gables,  bring  it  back  overflowing  with  meat. 
"3 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

Between-times  there  is  leisure,  and  marvel- 
lous leisure,  among  the  rats  and  the  waste 
of  the  slaughter-house.  They  are  copiously 
fed,  they  are  fat,  they  shine  like  seals,  and 
taste  in  its  fullness  the  only  happiness 
dreamed  of  by  the  nai've,  ferreting  instinct 
of  the  honest  dog.  But  their  unfortunate 
brethren  of  the  same  litter,  that  the  lame 
sand-pedlar  buys,  or  the  old  collector  of 
household  refuse,  or  the  needy  peasant  with 
his  great  cruel  clogs — these  are  chained  to 
heavy  carts  or  shapeless  barrows;  they  are 
filthy,  mangy,  hairless,  emaciated,  starving; 
and  follow  till  they  die  the  circles  of  a  hell 
into  which  they  were  thrust  by  a  few  cop- 
pers dropped  into  some  horny  palm.  And, 
in  a  world  less  directly  subject  to  man,  there 
must  evidently  be  partridges,  pheasants, 
deer,  hares,  which  have  no  luck,  which 
never  escape  the  gun;  while  others,  one 
knows  not  how  or  why,  emerge  unscathed 
from  every  battue. — The  Buried  Temple. 
114 


VII 
WISDOM  AND   REASON 

WISDOM,  perhaps,  is  only  the  sense 
of  the  infinite  applied  to  our  moral 
life. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

194.  It  is  not  by  renouncing  the  joys 
that  are  near  to  us  that  we  shall  grow  wise ; 
but  as  we  grow  wise  we  unconsciously  aban- 
don the  joys  that  now  are  beneath  us. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

195.  Those  thinkers  have  learned  to  love 
wisdom   with   a    far   more   intimate   love 
whose  lives  have  been  happy,  than  those 
whose  lives  have  been  sad.     The  wisdom 
forced  into  growth  by  misfortune  is  differ- 
ent far  from  the  wisdom  that  ripens  be- 
neath happiness.     The  first  where  it  seeks 
to  console,  must  whisper  of  happiness;  the 
other  tells  of  itself.    He  who  is  sad  is  taught 
by  his  wisdom  that  happiness  yet  may  be 

117 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

his ;  he  who  is  happy  is  taught  by  his  wisdom 
that  he  may  become  wiser  still. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

196.  Ours  is  the  choice — whether  wis- 
dom shall  be  the  honoured  wife  of  our  pas- 
sions and  feelings,  our  thoughts  and  desires, 
or  the  melancholy  bride  of  death.    Let  the 
tomb  have  its  stagnant  wisdom,  but  let  there 
be  wisdom  also  for  the  hearth  where  the 
fire  still  burns. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

197.  Wisdom  is  the  lamp  of  love,  and 
love  is  the  oil  of  the  lamp.    Love,  sinking 
deeper,    grows   wiser;    and   wisdom    that 
springs  up  aloft  comes  ever  the  nearer  to 
love.    If  you  love,  you  must  needs  become 
wise;  be  wise  and  you  surely  shall  love. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

198.  Reason  and  love  battle  fiercely  at 
first  in  the  soul  that  begins  to  expand;  but 
wisdom  is  born  of  the  peace  that  at  last 
comes  to  pass  between  reason  and  love. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

118 


Wisdom  and  Reason 

199.  Love  is  the  food  of  wisdom;  wis- 
dom, the  food  of  love;  a  circle  of  light 
within  which  those  who  love  clasp  the  hands 
of  those  who  are  wise.    Wisdom  and  love 
are  one ;  and  in  Swedenborg's  Paradise  the 
wife  is  '  the  love  of  the  wisdom  of  the  wise.' 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

200.  In  reason  no  love  can  be  found — 
there  is  much  love  in  wisdom;  and  all  that 
is  highest  in  wisdom  entwines  around  all 
that  is  purest  in  love.     Love  is  the  form 
most  divine  of  the  infinite,  and  also,  because 
most  divine,  the  form  most  profoundly  hu- 
man.   Why  should  we  not  say  that  wisdom 
is  the  triumph  of  reason  divine  over  reason 
of  man  ? — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

20 1.  Truly  wise  you  are  not  unless  your 
wisdom  be  constantly  changing  from  your 
childhood  on  to  your  death. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

202.  Wisdom  one  day  said  to  reason, 
It  were  well  to  love  one's  enemies  and  re- 

119 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

turn  good  for  evil.  Reason,  that  day,  tip- 
toe on  the  loftiest  peak  in  its  kingdom,  at 
last  was  fain  to  agree.  But  wisdom  is  not 
yet  content,  and  seeks  ever  further  alone. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

203.  If  Jesus  Christ  and  Socrates  both 
were  to  meet  the  adulterous  woman,  the 
words    that    their    reason    would    prompt 
them  to  speak  would  vary  but  little;  but 
belonging  to  different  worlds  would  be  the 
working  of  the  wisdom  within  them,  far 
beyond  words  and   far  beyond  thoughts. 
For  differences  such  as  these  are  of  the  very 
essence  of  wisdom. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

204.  Reason    defends    and   withdraws; 
forbids,    rejects,    and   destroys.      Wisdom 
advances,    attacks,    and    adds;    increases, 
creates,  and  commands.     Reason  produces 
not  wisdom,  which  is  rather  a  craving  of 
soul. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

205.  He  is  wise  who  at  last  sees  in  suffer- 
ing only  the  light  that  it  sheds  on  his  soul; 

1 20 


Wisdom  and  Reason 

and  whose  eyes  never  rest  on  the  shadow  it 
casts  upon  those  who  have  sent  it  towards 
him.  And  wiser  still  is  the  man  to  whom 
sorrow  and  joy  not  only  bring  increase  of 
consciousness,  but  also  the  knowledge  that 
something  exists  superior  to  consciousness 
even. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

206.  Strangely  enough,  it  is  not  in  our 
reason  that  moral  life  has  its  being;  and  he 
who  would  let  reason  govern  his  life  would 
be  the  most  wretched  of  men.    There  is  not 
a  virtue,  a  beautiful  thought,  or  a  generous 
deed,  but  has  most  of  its  roots  hidden  far 
away  from  that  which  can  be  understood  or 
explained. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

207.  In  unconsciousness  we  ever  must 
dwell;  but  are  able  to  purify,  day  after  day, 
the  unconsciousness  that  wraps  us  around. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

208.  Reason  flings  open  the  door  to  wis- 
dom ;  but  the  most  living  wisdom  finds  itself 
not  in  reason.     Reason  bars  the  gate  to 

121 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

malevolent  destiny;  but  wisdom,  far  away 
on  the  horizon,  throws  open  another  gate 
to  propitious  wisdom. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

209.  He  who  knows  himself  is  wise; 
yet  we  have  no  sooner  acquired  real  con- 
sciousness of  our  being  than  we  learn  that 
true  wisdom  is  a  thing  that  lies  far  deeper 
than  consciousness.    The  chief  gain  of  in- 
creased consciousness  is  that  it  unveils  an 
ever    loftier    unconsciousness,    on    whose 
heights  do  the  sources  lie  of  the  purest 
wisdom. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

210.  It  is  only  one  side  of  morality  that 
unhappiness  throws  into  light;  and  the  man 
whom  sorrow  has  taught  to  be  wise,  is  like 
one  who  has  loved  and  never  been  loved  in 
return. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

211.  A  great  deed  of  heroism  fascinates 
us;  our  eyes  cannot  travel  beyond  the  act 
itself;  but  insignificant  thoughts  and  deeds 
lead  us  on  to  the  horizon  beyond  them;  and 

122 


Wisdom  and  Reason 

is  not  the  shining  star  of  human  wisdom 
always  situate  on  the  horizon? — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

212.  It  is  of  the  nature  of  wisdom  to 
despise  nothing ;  indeed,  in  this  world  there 
is  perhaps  only  one  thing  truly  contemptible, 
and  that  thing  is  contempt  itself. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

213.  The  friend  is  not  wise  who  will  not 
confide  in  his  friend,  remembering  always 
that  friendship  may  come  to  an  end;  nor 
the  lover,  who  draws  back  for  fear  lest  he 
may  find  shipwreck  in  love.    For  here,  were 
we  twenty  times  unfortunate,  it  is  still  only 
the  perishable  portion  of  our  energy  for 
happiness  that  suffers ;  and  what  is  wisdom 
after  all  but  this  same  energy  for  happiness 
cleansed  of  all  that  is  impure? — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

214.  The  supreme  endeavour  of  wisdom 
is  only  to  seek  in  life  for  the  fixed  point 
of  happiness;  but  to  seek  this  fixed  point 

123 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

in  renunciation  and  farewell  to  joy,  is 
only  to  seek  it  in  death. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

215.  Were  we  to  allow  our  clear  ideas 
only  to  govern  our  life,  we  should  quickly 
become  undeserving  of  either  much  love 
or   esteem.      For,    truly,    what    could   be 
less  clear  than  the  reasons  that  bid  us  be 
generous,  upright  and  just;  that  teach  us 
to   cherish    in   all   things   the    noblest   of 
feelings     and     thoughts? — Wisdom     and 
Destiny. 

216.  To  disdain  is  only  too  easy,  not 
so  to  understand;  but  in  him  who  is  truly 
wise  there  passes  no  thought  of  disdain, 
but  it  will,   sooner  or  later,   evolve  into 
full    comprehension. — Wisdom    and   Des- 
tiny. 

217.  In  the  history  of  human  reason, 
the  greatest  and  the  justest  thoughts  are 
not  always  those  which  attain  the  loftiest 
heights.     It  happens  somewhat  with  the 

124 


Wisdom  and  Reason 

thoughts  of  men  as  with  a  fountain;  for 
it  is  only  because  the  water  has  been  im- 
prisoned and  escapes  through  a  narrow 
opening  that  it  soars  so  proudly  into  the 
air.  As  it  issues  from  the  opening  and 
hurls  itself  towards  the  sky,  it  would  seem 
to  despise  the  great,  illimitable,  motionless 
lake  that  stretches  out  far  beneath  it.  And 
yet,  say  what  one  will,  it  is  the  lake  that 
is  right.  For  all  its  apparent  motionless- 
ness,  for  all  its  silence,  it  is  tranquilly 
accomplishing  the  immense  and  normal  task 
of  the  most  important  element  of  our  globe; 
and  the  jet  of  water  is  merely  a  curious  in- 
cident, which  soon  returns  into  the  universal 
scheme.  To  us,  the  species  is  the  great, 
unerring  lake ;  and  this  even  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  superior  human  reason  that 
it  would  seem  at  times  to  offend.  Its  idea 
is  the  vastest  of  all,  and  contains  every 
other;  it  embraces  limitless  time  and  space. 
And  does  not  each  day  that  goes  by  reveal 
125 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

more  and  more  clearly  to  us  that  the  vastest 
idea,  no  matter  where  it  reside,  always  ends 
by  becoming  the  most  just  and  most  reason- 
able, the  wisest,  and  the  most  beautiful? — 
The  Buried  Temple. 


136 


VIII 
DUTY  AND  SELF-SACRIFICE 


VIII 
DUTY  AND  SELF-SACRIFICE 

THE  paramount  duty  of  all  is  to  throw 
our  conception  of  duty  into  clearest 
possible  light. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

219.  In  this  world  there  are  thousands 
of  weak,  noble  creatures  who  fancy  that 
sacrifice  always  must  be  the  last  word  of 
duty;    thousands   of   beautiful   souls   that 
know  not  what  should  be  done,  and  seek 
only  to  yield  up  their  life,  holding  that  to  be 
virtue  supreme.    They  are  wrong;  supreme 
virtue  consists  in  the  knowledge  of  what 
should  be  done,  in  the  power  to  decide  for 
ourselves  whereto  we  should  offer  our  life. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

220.  The  word  duty  itself  will  often 
contain  far  more  error  and  moral  indiffer- 
ence than  virtue. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

221.  It  is  not  by  self-sacrifice  that  lofti- 

129 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

ness  comes  to  the  soul;  but  as  the  soul  be- 
comes loftier,  sacrifice  fades  out  of  sight, 
as  the  flowers  in  the  valley  disappear  from 
die  vision  of  him  who  toils  up  the  mountain. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

222.  To  the  soul  that  is  slowly  awaken- 
ing   all    appears    sacrifice. — Wisdom    and 
Destiny. 

223.  Sacrifice  may  be  a  flower  that  virtue 
will  pluck  on  its  road,  but  it  was  not  to 
gather  this  flower  that  virtue  set  forth  on 
its  travels. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

224.  It  is,  as  a  rule,  far  easier  to  sacrifice 
self — to  give  up,  that  is,  our  moral  exist- 
ence to  the  first  one  who  chooses  to  take  it — 
than  to  fulfil  our  spiritual  destiny,  to  accom- 
plish, right  to  the  end,  the  task  for  which 
we  were  created. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

22$.  Before  giving,  let  us  try  to  acquire; 
for  this  last  is  a  duty  where  from  we  are  not 
relieved  by  the  fact  of  our  giving. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

130 


Duty  and  Self-Sacrifice 

226.  Sacrifice  is  a  beautiful  token  of 
unrest;  but  unrest  should  not  be  nurtured 
in  us  for  the  sake  of  itself. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

227.  Why  not  admit  that  it  is  not  our 
paramount  duty  to  weep  with  all  those  who 
are  weeping,  to  suffer  with  all  who  are  sad, 
to  expose  our  heart  to  the  passer-by  for 
him  to  caress  or  stab  ?    Tears  and  suffering 
and  wounds  are  helpful  to  us  only  when 
they  do  not  discourage  our  life.     Let  us 
never  forget  that  whatever  our  mission  may 
be  in  this  world,  whatever  the  aim  of  our 
efforts  and  hopes,  and  the  result  of  our  joys 
and  our  sorrows,  we  are,  above  all,  the 
blind   custodians    of    life. — Wisdom    and 
Destiny. 

228.  We  may  possibly  not  be  good,  or 
noble,  or  beautiful,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
greatest  sacrifice;  and  the  sister  of  charity 
who  dies  by  the  bedside  of  a  typhoid  patient 
may  perchance  have  a   mean,   rancorous, 

131 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

miserable  soul. — The  Treasure  of  the 
ble. 

229.  Nearly  all  the  great  things  of  this 
world  have  been  done  by  men  who  con- 
cerned themselves  not  at  all  with  ideas  of 
self-sacrifice.  Plato's  thoughts  flew  on — he 
paused  not  to  let  his  tears  fall  with  the  tears 
of  the  mourners  in  Athens;  Newton  pursued 
his  experiments  calmly,  nor  left  them  to 
search  for  objects  of  pity  or  sorrow;  and 
Marcus  Aurelius  above  all  (for  here  we 
touch  on  the  most  frequent  and  dangerous 
form  of  self-sacrifice),  Marcus  Aurelius 
essayed  not  to  dim  the  brightness  of  his 
soul  that  he  might  confer  happiness  on  the 
inferior  soul  of  Faustina.  And  if  this  was 
right  in  the  lives  of  these  men,  of  Plato 
and  Newton  and  Marcus  Aurelius,  it  is 
equally  right  in  the  life  of  every  soul;  for 
each  has,  in  its  sphere,  the  same  obligations 
to  self  as  the  soul  of  the  greatest.  We 
should  tell  ourselves,  once  and  for  all,  that 
132 


Duty  and  Self-Sacrifice 

it  is  the  first  duty  of  the  soul  to  become  as 
happy,  complete,  independent  and  great  as 
lies  in  its  power.  Herein  is  no  egoism,  or 
pride.  To  become  effectually  generous  and 
sincerely  humble  there  must  be  within  us 
a  confident,  tranquil  and  clear  comprehen- 
sion of  all  that  we  owe  to  ourselves.  To 
this  end  we  may  sacrifice  even  the  passion 
for  sacrifice;  for  sacrifice  never  should  be 
the  means  of  ennoblement,  but  only  the 
sign  of  our  being  ennobled. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

230.  As  a  rule  it  is  far  easier  to  die 
morally,  nay,  even  physically,  for  others, 
than  to  learn  how  best  we  should  live  for 
them.     There  are  too  many  beings  who 
thus  lull  to  sleep  all  initiative,  personal  life, 
and  absorb  themselves  wholly  in  the  idea 
that  they  are  prepared  and  ready  for  sacri- 
fice.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

23 1 .  Let  us  beware  lest  we  act  as  he  did 
in  the  fable,  who  stood  watch  in  the  light- 

133 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

house,  and  gave  to  the  poor  in  the  cabins 
about  him  the  oil  of  the  mighty  lanterns 
that  served  to  illumine  the  sea.  Every  soul 
in  its  sphere  has  charge  of  a  light-house, 
for  which  there  is  more  or  less  need.  The 
humblest  mother  who  allows  her  whole 
life  to  be  crushed,  to  be  saddened,  absorbed, 
by  the  less  important  of  her  motherly  duties, 
is  giving  her  oil  to  the  poor;  and  her  chil- 
dren will  suffer,  the  whole  of  their  life, 
from  there  not  having  been,  in  the  soul  of 
their  mother,  the  radiance  it  might  have  ac- 
quired.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 


134 


IX 
BEAUTY 


IX 

BEAUTY 

IT  seems  to  me  that  a  beautiful  thought 
becomes  more  beautiful  when  others 
admire  it.    .     .     . — Aglavaine  and  Sely- 
sette. 

233.  It  is  always  the  soul  which  knows 
how  to  display  itself  that  attracts  us,  but 
the  one  that  hides  is  no  less  beautiful;  nay 
it  may  well  be  more  beautiful,  by  dint  of 
its  very  unconsciousness.     .     .     . — Agla- 
vaine  and  Selysette. 

234.  There  comes  a  moment  in  life  when 
moral  beauty   seems   more   urgent,    more 
penetrating,  than  intellectual  beauty;  when 
all  that  the  mind  has  treasured  must  be 
bathed  in  the  greatness  of  soul,  lest  it  perish 
in  the  sandy  desert,  forlorn  as  a  river  that 
seeks  in  vain  for  the  sea. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

137 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

235.  If  at  this  moment  you  think  or  say 
something  that  is  too  beautiful  to  be  true 
in  you — if  you  have  but  endeavoured  to 
think  or  say  it  to-day,  on  the  morrow  it  will 
be  true.    We  must  try  to  be  more  beautiful 
than  ourselves;  we  shall  never  distance  our 
soul. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

236.  The  assassin  will  tell  you,  '  I  mur- 
der, it  is  true,  but  at  least  do  I  not  steal.' 
And  he  who  has  stolen  steals,  but  does  not 
betray;  and  he  who  betrays  would  at  least 
not  betray  his  brother.    And  thus  does  each 
one  cling  for  refuge  to  his  last  fragment  of 
spiritual  beauty.    No  man  can  have  fallen 
so  low  but  he  still  has  a  retreat  in  his  soul, 
where  he  ever  shall  find  a  few  drops  of  pure 
water,  and  be  girt  up  anew  with  the  strength 
that  he  needs  to  go  on  with  his  life. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

237.  '  Even  to  the  very  wretchedest  of 
all/  said  to  me  one  day  the  loftiest  minded 
creature  it  has  ever  been  my  happiness  to 

138 


Beauty 

know,  *  even  to  the  very  wretchedest  of  all 
I  never  have  the  courage  to  say  anything  in 
reply  that  is  ugly  or  mediocre.'  I  have  for 
a  long  time  followed  that  man's  life,  and 
have  seen  the  inexplicable  power  he  exer- 
cised over  the  most  obscure,  the  most  unap- 
proachable, the  blindest,  even  the  most  re- 
bellious of  souls.  For  no  tongue  can  tell 
the  power  of  a  soul  that  strives  to  live  in 
an  atmosphere  of  beauty,  and  is  actively 
beautiful  in  itself.  And  indeed  is  it  not 
the  quality  of  this  activity  that  renders  a 
life  either  miserable  or  divine? — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

238.  We  must  never  keep  back  a  beauti- 
ful thought,  for  all  the  world  is  the  happier 
for  it.     .     .     . — Aglavaine  and  Selysette. 

239.  The  soul  may  well  be  no  more  than 
the  most  beautiful  desire  of  our  brain,  and 
God  Himself  be  only  the  most  beautiful 
desire  of  our  soul. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

240.  Nothing  of  beauty   dies   without 

139 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

having  purified  something,  nor  can  aught 
of  beauty  be  lost.  Let  us  not  be  afraid  of 
sowing  it  along  the  road.  It  may  remain 
there  for  weeks  or  years,  but  like  the  dia- 
mond it  cannot  dissolve,  and  finally  there 
will  pass  by  some  one  whom  its  glitter  will 
attract;  he  will  pick  it  up  and  go  on  his 
way,  rejoicing.  Then  why  keep  back  a 
lofty,  beautiful  word,  because  of  your  doubt 
whether  others  will  understand? — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

241.  Moral  beauty,   indeed,   though   it 
be  of  the  rarest  kind,  never  passes  the  com- 
prehension of  the  most  narrow-minded  of 
men;  and  no  act  is  so  readily  understood 
as  the  act  that  is  truly  sublime. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

242.  There  are  about  us  thousands  and 
thousands  of  poor  creatures  who  have  noth- 
ing of  beauty  in  their  lives:  they  come, 
they  go,  in  obscurity,  and  we  believe  that 
all  is  dead  within  them;  and  no  one  pays 

140 


Beauty 

any  heed.  And  then  one  day  a  simple 
word,  an  unexpected  silence,  a  little  tear 
that  springs  from  the  source  of  beauty 
itself,  tells  us  that  they  have  found  the 
means  of  raising  aloft,  in  the  shadow  of 
their  soul,  an  ideal  a  thousand  times  more 
beautiful  than  the  most  beautiful  things 
their  ears  have  ever  heard,  or  their  eyes 
ever  seen.  Oh,  noble  and  pallid  ideals  of 
silence  and  shadow!  It  is  you,  above  all, 
who  call  forth  the  smile  of  the  angels;  it 
is  you,  above  all,  who  soar  direct  to  God ! — 
The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

243.  There  speaks  to  a  very  wise  king 
one  of  five  pensive  maidens  whom  this  king 
is  invited  to  buy.  '  Know  thou,  O  King,' 
she  says,  '  that  the  most  beautiful  deed  one 
can  do  is  the  deed  that  is  disinterested.  And 
so  do  they  tell  us  that  in  Israel  once  were 
two  brothers,  and  that  one  asked  the  other, 
"  Of  all  the  deeds  thou  hast  done,  which 
was  the- most  wicked?"  And  his  brother 
141 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

replied,  "  This :  as  I  passed  by  a  hen-roost 
one  day  I  stretched  out  my  arm  and  seized 
a  chicken  and  strangled  it,  and  then  flung 
it  back  into  the  roost.  That  is  the 
wickedest  deed  of  my  life.  And  thou,  O 
my  brother,  what  is  thy  wickedest  action?  " 
And  he  answered,  "  That  I  prayed  to  Allah 
one  day  to  demand  a  favour  of  him.  For 
it  is  only  when  the  soul  is  simply  uplifted  on 
high  that  prayer  can  be  beautiful."  ' — The 
Burled  Temple. 


143 


X 

LOVE 


LOVE 

THE  kingdom  of  love  is,  before  all 
else,  the  great  kingdom  of  certitude, 
for  it  is  within  its  bounds  that  the  soul  is 
possessed    of    the    utmost    leisure. — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

245.  Frequently,  indeed,  will  the  great- 
est suffering  be  caused  by  those  whose  love 
is  greatest,    for  a   strange,   timid,   tender 
cruelty  is  most  often  the  anxious  sister  of 
love.     On  all  sides  does  love  search  for  the 
proofs  of  love,  and  the  first  proofs — who  is 
not  prone  to  discover  them  in  the  tears  of 
the  beloved? — The  Treasure  of  the  Hum- 
ble. 

246.  Every  thought  that  quickens  my 
heart  brings  quickening,  too,  to  the  love  and 
respect  that  I  have  for  mankind.    As  I  rise 
aloft,  you  will  rise  with  me.     But  if,  the 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

better  to  love  you,  I  deem  it  my  duty  to 
tear  off  the  wings  from  my  love,  your  love 
being  wingless  as  yet;  then  shall  I  have 
added  in  vain  to  the  plaints  and  the  tears 
in  the  valley,  but  brought  my  own  love 
thereby  not  one  whit  nearer  the  mountain. 
Our  love  should  always  be  lodged  on  the 
highest  peak  we  can  attain.  Let  our  love 
not  spring  from  pity  when  it  can  be  born 
of  love;  let  us  not  forgive  for  charity's 
sake  when  justice  offers  forgiveness;  nor 
let  us  try  to  console  there  where  we  can 
respect.  Let  our  one  never-ceasing  care  be 
to  better  the  love  that  we  offer  our  fellows. 
One  cup  of  this  love  that  is  drawn  from 
the  spring  on  the  mountain  is  worth  a  hun- 
dred taken  from  the  stagnant  well  of  ordi- 
nary charity — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

247.  If  you  have  loved  profoundly  you 

have  needed  no  one  to  tell  you  that  your 

soul  was  a  thing  as  great  in  itself  as  the 

world ;  that  the  stars,  the  flowers,  the  waves 

146 


Love 

of  night  and  sea  were  not  solitary;  that  it 
was  on  the  threshold  of  appearances  that 
everything  began,  but  nothing  ended,  and 
that  the  very  lips  you  kissed  belonged  to  a 
creature  who  was  loftier,  purer,  and  more 
beautiful  than  the  one  whom  your  arms 
enfolded. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

248.  At  the  root  of  the  most  marvellous 
love  there  never  is  more  than  the  simplest 
felicity,  an  adoration,  a  tenderness  within 
the  understanding  of  all,  a  security,  faith 
and  fidelity  all  can  acquire,  an  intensely 
human  admiration,  devotion — and  all  these 
the  eager,  unfortunate  heart  could  know, 
too,  in  its  sorrowful  life,  had  it  only  a  little 
less  impatience  and  bitterness,  a  little  more 
initiative  and  energy. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

249.  There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world  but 
something  improves  in  his  soul  from  the 
moment  he  loves — and  that  though  his  love 
be  but  vulgar. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

147 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

250.  The  greatest  advantage  of  lave  is 
that  it  gives  us  occasion  to  love  and  admire 
in  one  person,  sole  and  unique,  what  we 
should  have  had   neither  knowledge  nor 
strength  to  love  and  admire  in  the  many. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

251.  All  that  is  loyal  within  you  will 
flower  in  the  loyalty  of  the  woman  you 
love;  whatever  of  truth  there  abides  in  your 
soul  will  be  soothed  by  the  truth  that  is 
hers;  and  her  strength  of  character  can  only 
be  enjoyed  by  that  which  is  strong  in  you. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

252.  However  imperfect  you  be,  you  still 
may  suffice  for  the  love  of  a  marvellous 
being;  but  for  your  love,  if  you  are  not  per- 
fect, that  being  will  never  suffice. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

253.  When  Dante  had  gained  the  third 
sphere,    and   stood   in   the   midst   of   the 
heavenly  lights,  all  shining  with  uniform 
splendour,  he  saw  that  around  him  naught 

148 


Love 

moved,  and  wondered  was  he  standing 
motionless  there,  or  indeed  drawing  nearer 
unto  the  seat  of  God?  So  he  cast  his  eyes 
upon  Beatrice,  and  she  seemed  more  beau- 
tiful to  him;  wherefore  he  knew  that  he  was 
approaching  his  goal.  And  so  can  we  too 
count  the  steps  that  we  take  on  the  highway 
of  truth,  by  the  increase  of  love  that  comes 
for  all  that  goes  with  us  in  life;  the  increase 
of  love  and  of  glad  curiosity,  of  respect  and 
of  deep  admiration. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

254.  When  you  love,  it  is  not  your  love 
that  forms  part  of  your  destiny;  but  the 
knowledge  of  self  that  you  will  have  found, 
deep  down  in  your  love — this  it  is  that  will 
help  to  fashion  your  life. — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

255.  Not  to  all  men  is  it  given  to  be 
hero  or  genius,   victorious,   admirable  al- 
ways, or  even  to  be  simply  happy  in  exterior 
things;  but  it  lies  in  the  power  of  the  least 

149 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

favoured  among  us  to  be  loyal,  and  gentle, 
and  just,  to  be  generous  and  brotherly;  he 
that  has  least  gifts  of  all  can  learn  to  look 
on  his  fellows  without  envy  or  hatred,  with- 
out malice  futile  regret;  the  outcast  can 
take  his  strange,  silent  part  (which  is  not 
always  that  of  least  service)  in  the  glad- 
ness of  those  who  are  near  him;  he  that  has 
barely  a  talent  can  still  learn  to  forgive  an 
offence  with  an  ever  nobler  forgiveness,  can 
find  more  excuses  for  error,  more  admira- 
tion for  human  word  and  deed;  and  the 
man  there  are  none  to  love  can  love,  and 
reverence  love. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

256.  There  are  certain  fastnesses  within 
our  soul  that  lie  buried  so  deep  that  love 
alone  dare  venture  down;  and  it  returns 
laden   with    undreamed-of   jewels,    whose 
lustre  can  only  be  seen  as  they  pass  from 
our  open  hand  to  the  hand  of  one  we  love. 
— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

257.  It  is  sad  to  love  and  be  unloved, 

150 


Love 

but  sadder  still  to  be  unable  to  love. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

258.  Love  does  not  always  reflect;  often 
indeed  does  it  need  no  reflection,  no  search 
into  self,  to  enjoy  what  is  best  in  thought; 
but,  none  the  less,  all  that  is  best  in  love  is 
closely  akin  to  all  that  is  best  in  thought. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

259.  Loyally  to  love  a  great  error  may 
well  be  more  helpful  than  meanly  to  serve 
a  great  truth;  for  in  doubt,  no  less  than 
in  faith,  are  passion  and  love  to  be  found. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

260.  The  extent  of  our  love  for  the  thing 
which  we  hold  to  be  true  is  of  greater  im- 
portance than  even  the  truth  itself. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

261.  If  my  soul,  on  awaking  this  morn- 
ing, was  cheered,  as  it  dwelt  on  its  love,  by 
a  thought  that  drew  near  to  a  God — a  God, 
we  have  said,  who  is  doubtless  no  more  than 
the  loveliest  desire  of  our  soul — then  shall  I 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

behold  this  same  thought  astir  in  the  beggar 
who  passes  my  window  the  moment  there- 
after; and  I  shall  love  him  the  more  for 
that  I  understand  him  the  better. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

262.  When  a  virtue  of  the  being  we  love 
finds  not,  on  the  threshold  of  our  heart,  a 
virtue  that  resembles  it  somewhat,  then  is 
it  all  unaware  to  whom  it  shall  offer  the 
gladness  it  brings. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

263.  To  love   madly,   perhaps,   is   not 
wise;  still,  should  you  love  madly,  more 
wisdom  will  doubtless  come  to  you  than  if 
you   had  always  loved  wisely. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

264.  As  for  a  thought,  we  know  not,  it 
may  be  deceptive;  but  the  love,  wherewith 
we  have  loved  it,  will  surely  return  to  our 
soul;  nor  can  a  single  drop  of  its  clearness 
or  strength  be  abstracted  by  error. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

265.  If  the  shafts  of  envy  can  wound 

152 


Love 

and  draw  blood,  it  is  only  because  we  our- 
selves have  shafts  that  we  wish  to  throw; 
if  treachery  can  wring  a  groan  from  us,  we 
must  be  disloyal  ourselves.  Only  those 
weapons  can  wound  the  soul  that  it  has  not 
yet  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  Love. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

266.  When  we  lose  one  we  love,  our  bit- 
terest tears  are  called  forth  by  the  thought 
of  the  hours  when  our  love  had  been  all  too 
slight.    If  we  always  had  smiled  on  the  one 
who  is  gone,  there  would  be  no  despair  in 
our  grief;  and  some  sweetness  would  cling 
to  our  tears,  reminiscent  of  virtues  and  hap- 
piness.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

267.  I  have  known  more  than  one  life 
that  love  broke  asunder,  but  if  it  had  not 
been  love,  these  lives  would  no  doubt  have 
been  broken  no  less  by  friendship  or  apathy, 
by  doubt,  hesitation,  indifference,  inaction. 
For  that  only  which  in  itself  is  fragile  can 
be  rent  in  the  heart  by  love ;  and  where  all 

153 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

is  broken  that  the  heart  contains,  then 
must  all  have  been  far  too  frail. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

268.  In  the  most  perfect  love,  the  lovers* 
happiness  will  not  be  exactly  the  same,  be 
their  union  never  so  close ;  for  the  better  of 
the  two  needs  must  love  with  a  love  that  is 
deeper;  and  the  one  who  loves  with  a  deeper 
love  must  be  surely  the  happier. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 


134 


XI 

WOMEN 


XI 

WOMEN 

IF,  like  Don  Juan,  we  take  a  thousand 
and  three  to  our  embraces,  still  will 
we  find,  on  that  evening  when  arms  fall 
asunder  and  lips  disunite,  that  it  is  always 
the  same  woman,  good  or  bad,  tender  or 
cruel,  loving  or  faithless,  that  is  standing 
before  us. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

270.  The    first   time    a   man    meets   a 
woman,  a  single  word  or  thought  that  de- 
nies  the   beautiful   or   profound   will   be 
enough  to  poison  for  ever  his  existence  in 
her  soul. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

271.  Let  but  my  very  loftiest  thought 
be  weighed  in  the  scale  of  life  or  love,  it 
will  not  turn  the  balance  against  the  three 
little  words  that  the  maid  who  loves  me 
shall  have  whispered  of  her  silver  bangles, 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

her  pearl  necklace,  or  her  trinkets  of  glass. 
.     .     . — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

272.  There  is  nothing  that  blends  more 
readily  than  earth  and  sky;  if  your  eyes 
have  looked  on  the  stars,  before  enfolding 
in  your  arms  the  woman  you  love,  your 
embrace  will  not  be  the  same  as  though 
you  merely  had  looked  at  the  walls  of  your 
room. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

273.  Do  I  need  to  be  told  whether  she 
whom  I  take  in  my  arms  to-day  is  jealous 
or  fickle,  gay  or  sad,  sincere  or  treacherous? 
Do  you  think  that  these  wretched  words 
can  attain  the  heights  whereon  our  souls 
repose  and  where  our  destiny  fulfils  itself 
in  silence?    What  care  I  whether  she  speak 
of  rain  or  jewels,  of  pins  or  feathers;  what 
care  I  though  she  appear  not  to  under- 
stand?    Do  you  think  that  it  is   for  a 
sublime  word  that  I  thirst  when  I  feel  that 
a  soul  is  gazing  into  my  soul  ? — The  Treas- 
ure of  the  Humble. 

158 


Women 

274.  The  woman  never  forgets  the  path 
that  leads  to  the  centre  of  her  being;  and 
no  matter  whether  I  find  her  in  opulence 
or  in  poverty,  in  ignorance  or  in  fulness  of 
knowledge,  in  shame  or  in  glory,  let  me  but 
whisper  one  word  that  has  truly  come  forth 
from  the  virgin  depth  of  my  soul,  and  she 
will  retrace  her  footsteps  along  the  mys- 
terious paths  that  she  has  never  forgotten, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  bring 
back  to  me,    from  out  her  inexhaustible 
stores  of  love,  a  word,  a  look,  or  a  gesture, 
that  shall  be  no  less  pure  than  my  own.     It 
is  as  though  her  soul  were  ever  within  call ; 
for  by  day  and  night  is  she  prepared  to  give 
answer  to  the  loftiest  appeal  from  another 
soul;  and  the  ransom  of  the  poorest  is  un- 
distinguishable  from  the  ransom  of  a  queen. 
.     .     . — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

275.  Some  of  nature's  strangest  secrets 
are  often  revealed,  at  sacred  moments,  to 
these  maidens  who  love,  and  ingenuously 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

and  unconsciously  will  they  declare  them. 
The  sage  follows  in  their  footsteps  to 
gather  up  the  jewels,  that  in  their  innocence 
and  joy  they  scatter  along  the  path.  The 
poet,  who  feels  what  they  feel,  offers 
homage  to  their  love,  and  tries,  in  his  songs, 
to  transplant  that  love,  which  is  the  germ 
of  the  age  of  gold,  to  other  times  and  other 
countries.  For  what  has  been  said  of  the 
mystics  applies  above  all  to  women,  since 
it  is  they  who  have  preserved  the  sense  of 
the  mystic  in  our  earth  to  this  day.  .  .  . 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

276.  .     .     .    Besides    their    primitive 
instincts  all  women  have  communications 
with  the  unknown  that  are  denied  to  us. — 
The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

277.  We    are    told    that    a    thousand 
centuries  divide  us  from  ourselves  when  we 
choose  the  woman  we  love,  and  that  the 
first  kiss  of  the  betrothed  is  but  the  seal 
that  thousands  of  hands,  craving  for  birth, 

160 


Women 

impress  upon  the  lips  of  the  mother  they 
desire. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

278.  May  it  not  be  during  one  of  those 
profound  moments,  when  his  head  is  pil- 
lowed on  a  woman's  breast,  that  the  hero 
learns  to  know  the  strength  and  steadfast- 
ness of  his  star?    And,  indeed,  will  any  true 
sentiment  of  the  future  ever  come  to  the 
man  who  has  not  had  his  resting-place  in  a 
woman's    heart? — The    Treasure    of    the 
Humble. 

279.  Let  not  floating  straws  cause  us  to 
forget  the  prodigies  of  the  gulf.    The  most 
glorious  thoughts  and  the  most  degraded 
ideas  can  no  more  ruffle  the  eternal  surface 
of  our  soul  than,  amidst  the  stars  of  heaven, 
Himalaya  or  precipice  can  alter  the  surface 
of  the  earth.     A  look,  a  kiss,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  great  invisible  presence:  all  is 
said;  and  I  know  that  she  who  is  by  my 
side  is  my  equal.     .     .     .     But  truly  this 
equal  is  admirable,  and  strange;  and,  when 

161  / 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

love  comes  to  her,  even  the  lowest  of  wan- 
tons possesses  that  which  we  never  have, 
inasmuch  as,  in  her  thoughts,  love  is  always 
eternal. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

280.  It  would   seem   that   women   are 
more  largely  swayed  by  destiny  than  our- 
selves.   They  submit  to  its  decrees  with  far 
more  simplicity;  nor  is  there  sincerity  in  the 
resistance  they  offer.    They  are  still  nearer 
to  God,  and  yield  themselves  with  less  re- 
serve to  the  pure  workings  of  the  mystery. 
And  therefore  is  it,  doubtless,  that  all  the 
incidents  in  our  life  in  which  they  take  part 
seem  to  bring  us  nearer  to  what  might  al- 
most be  the  very  fountain-head  of  destiny. 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

281.  It  is  well  that  old  men  should  now 
and  again  touch  with  their  lips  a  woman's 
forehead  or  the  cheek  of  a  child  that  belief 
in  the  freshness  of  life  may  once  more  re- 
turn to  them  and  its  menace  be  hidden. — 

Pelleas  and  Melisande. 
162 


Women 

282.  I  would  that  all  who  have  suffered 
at  woman's  hands,  and  found  them  evil, 
would  loudly  proclaim  it,  and  give  us  their 
reasons;  and  if  those  reasons  be  well 
founded  we  shall  be  indeed  surprised,  and 
shall  have  advanced  far  forward  in  the 
mystery.  For  women  are  indeed  the  veiled 
sisters  of  all  the  great  things  that  we  do  not 
see.  They  are  indeed  nearest  of  kin  to  the 
infinite  that  is  about  us,  and  they  alone  can 
still  smile  at  it  with  the  intimate  grace  of  the 
child,  to  whom  its  father  inspires  no  fear. 
It  is  they  who  preserve  here  below  the  pure 
fragrance  of  our  soul,  like  some  jewel  from 
heaven,  which  none  know  how  to  use;  and 
were  they  to  depart,  the  spirit  would  reign 
in  solitude  in  a  desert.  Theirs  are  still  the 
divine  emotions  of  the  first  days;  and  the 
sources  of  their  being  lie,  deeper  far  than 
ours,  in  all  that  was  illimitable.  Those 
who  complain  of  them  know  not  the  heights 
whereon  the  true  kisses  are  found,  and 
163 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

verily  do  I  pity  them.  And  yet,  how  in- 
significant do  women  seem  when  we  look  at 
them  as  we  pass  by !  We  see  them  moving 
about  in  their  little  homes ;  this  one  is  bend- 
ing forward,  down  there  another  is  sobbing, 
a  third  sings,  and  the  last  sews;  and  there 
is  not  one  of  us  who  understands.  . 
We  visit  them,  as  one  visits  pleasant  things ; 
we  approach  them  with  caution  and  suspi- 
cion, and  it  is  scarcely  possible  for  the  soul 
to  enter.  We  question  them  mistrustfully 
— they,  who  know  already,  answer  naught, 
and  we  go  away,  shrugging  our  shoulders, 
convinced  that  they  do  not  understand. 
.  .  . — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

283.  Some  beings  there  are,  of  vigorous 
intellect,  whose  intellect  never  is  used  to 
discover  a  fault,  or  foster  a  feeling  of 
charity.  And  this  happens  often  with 
women.  In  cases  where  a  man  and  a 
woman  have  equal  intellectual  power,  the 
woman  will  always  devote  far  less  of  this 
164 


Women 

power  to  acquiring  moral  self-knowledge. 
And  truly  the  intellect  that  aims  not  at 
consciousness  is  but  beating  its  wings  in  the 
void. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 


XII 
THE   PAST 


XII 
THE   PAST 

WHATEVER  was  one  day  and  has 
now  ceased  to  be  makes  for  sad- 
ness; above  all,  whatever  was  very  happy 
and  very  beautiful. — The  Buried  Temple. 

285.  Our  past  had  no  other  mission  than 
to  lift  us  to  the  moment  at  which  we  are, 
and  there  equip  us  with  the  needful  ex- 
perience and  weapons,  the  needful  thought 
and  gladness.  If,  at  this  precise  moment, 
it  take  from  us  and  divert  to  itself  one 
particle  of  our  energy,  then,  however 
glorious  it  may  have  been,  it  still  was  use- 
less, and  had  better  never  have  been.  If 
we  allow  it  to  arrest  a  gesture  that  we  were 
about  to  make,  then  is  our  death  beginning ; 
and  the  edifices  of  the  future  will  suddenly 
take  the  semblance  of  tombs. — The  Buried 
Temple. 

169 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

286.  No  past,  viewed  by  itself,  can  seem 
happy;  and  the  privileged  of  fate,  who 
reflect  on  what  remains  of  the  happy  years 
that  have  flown,  have  perhaps  more  reason 
for  sorrow  than  the  unfortunate  ones  who 
brood  over  the  dregs  of  a  life  of  wretched- 
ness.— The  Buried  Temple. 

287.  After  a  few  acts  of  weakness,  of 
treachery,  of  culpable  self-indulgence,  the 
survey  of  our  past  life  can  bring  discourage- 
ment only,  whereas  we  have  great  need  that 
our  past  should  inspire  and  sustain  us.   For 
therein  alone  do  we  truly  know  what  we 
are ;  it  is  only  our  past  that  can  come  to  us, 
in  our  moments  of  doubt,  and  say :  *  Since 
you  were  able  to  do  that  thing,  it  shall  lie 
in  your  power  to  do  this  thing  also.    When 
that  danger  confronted  you,  when  that  ter- 
rible grief  laid  you  prostrate,  you  had  faith 
in  yourself  and  you  conquered.    The  condi- 
tions to-day  are  the  same;  do  you  but  pre- 
serve your  faith  in  yourself,  and  your  star 

170 


The  Past 

will  be  constant.'  But  what  reply  shall  we 
make  if  our  past  can  only  whisper:  '  Your 
success  has  been  solely  due  to  injustice  and 
falsehood,  wherefore  it  behoves  you  once 
more  to  deceive  and  to  lie.'  No  man  cares 
to  let  his  eyes  rest  on  his  acts  of  disloyalty, 
weakness,  or  treachery;  and  all  the  events 
of  bygone  days  which  we  cannot  contem- 
plate calmly  and  peacefully,  with  satisfac- 
tion and  confidence,  trouble  and  restrict  the 
horizon  which  the  days  that  are  not  yet  are 
forming  far  away. — The  Buried  Temple. 

288.  To  have  known  how  to  change  the 
past  into  a  few  saddened  smiles — is  this 
not  to  master  the  future? — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

289.  Our  past   stretches   behind  us  in 
long  perspective.     It  slumbers  in  the  dis- 
tance like  a  deserted  city  shrouded  in  mist. 
A  few  peaks  mark  its  boundary,  and  soar 
predominant  into  the  air;  a  few  important 
acts  stand  out  like  towers,  some  with  the 

171 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

light  still  upon  them,  others  half  ruined, 
and  slowly  decaying  beneath  the  weight  of 
oblivion.  The  trees  are  bare,  the  walls 
crumble,  and  shadow  slowly  steals  over  all. 
Everything  seems  to  be  dead  there,  and 
rigid,  save  only  when  memory,  slowly  de- 
composing, lights  it  for  an  instant  with  an 
illusory  gleam.  But  apart  from  this  anima- 
tion, derived  only  from  our  expiring  recol- 
lections, all  would  appear  to  be  definitely 
motionless,  immutable  forever;  divided 
from  present  and  future  by  a  river  that 
shall  not  again  be  crossed. 

In  reality  it  is  alive;  and,  for  many  of 
us,  endowed  with  a  profounder,  more  ar- 
dent life  than  either  present  or  future.  In 
reality  this  dead  city  is  often  the  hotbed 
of  our  existence;  and  in  accordance  with 
the  spirit  in  which  men  return  to  it,  shall 
some  find  all  their  wealth  there,  and  others 
lose  what  they  have. — The  Buried  Temple. 

290.  Better  the  ordinary  past,  content 
172 


The  Past 

with  the  befitting  place  in  the  shadow,  than 
the  sumptuous  past  which  claims  to  govern 
what  has  traveled  out  of  its  reach.  Better 
a  mediocre,  but  living  present,  which  acts 
as  though  it  were  alone  in  the  world,  than 
a  present  which  profoundly  expires  in  the 
chains  of  a  marvellous  long  ago.  A  single 
step  that  we  take  at  this  hour  towards  an 
uncertain  goal,  is  far  more  important  to  us 
than  the  thousand  leagues  we  covered  in 
our  march  towards  a  dazzling  triumph  in 
the  days  that  were. — The  Buried  Temple. 
291.  'The  past  is  past,'  we  say,  and  it 
is  false :  the  past  is  always  present.  '  We 
have  to  bear  the  burden  of  our  past,'  we 
sigh,  and  it  is  false;  the  past  bears  our 
burden.  *  Nothing  can  wipe  out  the  past,' 
and  it  is  false;  the  least  effort  of  will  sends 
present  and  future  travelling  over  the  past, 
to  efface  whatever  we  bid  them  efface. 
'  The  indestructible,  irreparable,  immutable 
past,'  and  that  is  no  truer  than  the  rest.  In 
173 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

those  who  speak  thus  it  is  the  present  that 
is  immutable,  and  knows  not  how  to  repair. 
'  My  past  is  wicked,  it  is  sorrowful,  empty,1 
we  say  again ;  *  as  I  look  back  I  can  see  no 
moment  of  beauty,  of  happiness  or  love; 
I  see  nothing  but  wretched  ruins  .  .  .'  and 
that  is  false;  for  you  see  precisely  what 
you  yourself  place  there  at  the  moment  your 
eyes  rest  upon  it. — The  Burled  Temple. 

292.  No  past  can  be  empty  or  squalid, 
no  events  can  be  wretched ;  the  wretchedness 
lies  in  our  manner  of  welcoming  them. 
And  if  it  were  true  that  nothing  had  hap- 
pened to  you,  that  would  be  the  most  re- 
markable adventure  that  any  man  ever  had 
met  with ;  and  no  less  remarkable  would  be 
the  light  it  would  shed  upon  you. — The 
Buried  Temple. 

293.  The  past  asserts  itself  only  in  those 
whose  moral  growth  has  ceased;  then,  and 
not  till  then,  does  it  become  redoubtable. 
From  that  moment  we  have  indeed  the  irre- 

174 


The  Past 

parable  behind  us,  and  the  weight  of  what 
we  have  done  lies  heavy  upon  our  shoul- 
ders. But  so  long  as  the  life  of  our  mind 
and  character  flows  uninterruptedly  on,  so 
long  will  the  past  remain  in  suspense  above 
us;  and,  as  the  glance  may  be  that  we  send 
towards  it,  will  it,  complaisant  as  the  clouds 
Hamlet  showed  to  Polonius,  adopt  the 
shape  of  the  hope  or  fear,  the  peace  or  dis- 
quiet, that  we  are  perfecting  within  us. — 
The  Buried  Temple. 

294.  Our  past  is  our  secret,  promulgated 
by  the  voice  of  years;  it  is  the  most  myste- 
rious image  of  our  being,  over  which  Time 
keeps  watch.  The  image  is  not  dead;  a 
mere  nothing  degrades  or  adorns  it;  it  can 
still  grow  bright  or  sombre,  can  still  smile 
or  weep,  express  love  or  hatred ;  and  yet  it 
remains  recognisable  for  ever  in  the  midst 
of  the  myriad  images  that  surround  it.  It 
stands  for  what  we  once  were,  as  our  aspi- 
rations and  hopes  stand  for  what  we  shall 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

be ;  and  the  two  faces  blend,  that  they  may 
teach  us  what  we  are. — The  Buried  Tem- 
ple. 

295.  Our  chief  concern  with  the  past, 
that  which  truly  remains  and  forms  part 
of  us,  is  not  what  we  have  done  or  the  ad- 
ventures we  have  met  with,  but  the  moral 
reactions  bygone  events  are  producing 
within  us  at  this  very  moment,  the  inward 
being  they  have  helped  to  form;  and  these 
reactions,  that  give  birth  to  our  sovereign, 
intimate  being,  are  wholly  governed  by  the 
manner  in  which  we  regard  past  events, 
and  vary  as  the  moral  substance  varies  that 
they  encounter  within  us.  But  with  every 
step  in  advance  that  our  feelings  or  intellect 
take,  a  change  will  come  in  this  moral  sub- 
stance; and  then,  on  the  instant,  the  most 
immutable  facts,  that  seemed  to  be  graven 
for  ever  on  the  stone  and  bronze  of  the 
past,  will  assume  an  entirely  different  as- 
pect, will  return  to  life  and  leap  into  move- 


The  Past 

ment,  bringing  us  vaster  and  more 
courageous  counsels,  dragging  memory 
aloft  with  them  in  their  ascent;  and  what 
was  a  mass  of  ruin,  mouldering  in  the 
darkness,  becomes  a  populous  city  where- 
on the  sun  once  more  shines. — The  Buried 
Temple. 

296.  Above  all,  let  us  envy  the  past  of 
no  man.  Our  own  was  created  by  our- 
selves, and  for  ourselves  alone.  No  other 
could  have  suited  us,  no  other  could  have 
taught  us  the  truth  that  it  alone  can  teach, 
or  given  the  strength  that  it  alone  can  give. 
And  whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  sombre  or 
radiant,  it  still  remains  a  collection  of 
unique  masterpieces  the  value  of  which  is 
known  to  none  but  ourselves;  and  no  for- 
eign masterpiece  could  equal  the  action  we 
have  accomplished,  the  kiss  we  received, 
the  thing  of  beauty  that  moved  us  so  deep- 
ly, the  suffering  we  underwent,  the  anguish 
that  held  us  enchained,  the  love  that 
177 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

wreathed  us  in  smiles  or  in  tears. — The 
Buried  Temple. 

297.  He  who  should  see,  spread  out  be- 
fore him,  the  past  lives  of  a  multitude  of 
men,  could  not  easily  decide  which  past  he 
himself  would  wish  to  have  lived,  were  he 
not  able  at  the  same  time  to  witness  the 
moral  results  of  these  dissimilar  and  unsym- 
metrical  facts.     He  might  not  impossibly 
make  a  fatal  blunder;  he  might  choose  an 
existence    overflowing    with    incomparable 
happiness   and   victory,   that  sparkle   like 
wonderful  jewels;  while  his  glance  might 
travel   indifferently   over   a   life   that   ap- 
peared to  be  empty,  whereas  it  was  truly 
steeped  to  the  brim  in  serene  emotions  and 
lofty,  redeeming  thoughts,  whereby,  though 
the  eye  saw  nothing,  that  life  was  yet  ren- 
dered happy  among  all. — The  Buried  Tern- 
fie. 

298.  More  dangerous  still  than  the  past 
of  happiness  and  glory  is  the  one  inhabited 

178 


The  Past 

by  overpowering  and  too  dearly  cherished 
phantoms.  Many  an  existence  perishes  in 
the  coils  of  a  fond  recollection.  And  yet, 
were  the  dead  to  return  to  this  earth,  they 
would  say,  I  fancy,  with  the  wisdom  that 
must  be  theirs  who  have  seen  what  the 
ephemeral  light  still  hides  from  us :  *  Dry 
your  eyes.  There  comes  to  us  no  comfort 
from  your  tears;  exhausting  you,  they  ex- 
haust us  also.  Detach  yourself  from  us, 
banish  us  from  your  thoughts,  until  such 
time  as  you  can  think  of  us  without  strew- 
ing tears  on  the  life  we  still  live  in  you. 
We  endure  only  in  your  recollection;  but 
you  err  in  believing  that  only  your  regrets 
can  touch  us.  It  is  the  things  you  do  that 
prove  to  us  we  are  not  forgotten,  and  re- 
joice our  manes;  and  this  without  your 
knowing  it,  without  any  necessity  that  you 
should  turn  towards  us.  Each  time  that 
our  pale  image  saddens  your  ardour,  we 
feel  ourselves  die  anew,  and  it  is  a  more 
179 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

perceptible,  irrevocable  death  than  was  our 
other;  bending  too  often  over  our  tombs, 
you  rob  us  of  the  life,  the  courage  and  love, 
that  you  imagine  you  restore. 

1  It  is  in  you  that  we  are,  it  is  in  all  your 
life  that  our  life  resides;  and  as  you  become 
greater,  even  while  forgetting  us,  so  do  we 
become  greater  too,  and  our  shades  draw 
the  deep  breath  of  prisoners  whose  prison 
door  is  flung  open. 

*  If  there  be  anything  new  we  have 
learned  in  the  world  where  we  are  now,  it 
is,  first  of  all,  that  the  good  we  did  to  you 
when  we  were,  like  yourselves,  on  the  earth, 
does  not  balance  the  evil  wrought  by  a 
memory  which  saps  the  force  and  the  confi- 
dence of  life.' — The  Burled  Temple. 

299.  The  force  of  the  past  is  indeed  one 
of  the  heaviest  that  weigh  upon  men  and 
incline  them  to  sadness.  And  yet  there  is 
none  more  docile,  more  eager  to  follow 
the  direction  we  could  so  readily  give  did 
180 


The  Past 

we  but  know  how  best  to  avail  ourselves 
of  this  docility.  In  reality,  if  we  think  of 
it,  the  past  belongs  to  us  quite  as  much  as 
the  present,  and  is  far  more  malleable  than 
the  future.  Like  the  present,  and  to  a 
much  greater  extent  than  the  future,  its 
existence  is  all  in  our  thoughts,  and  our 
hand  controls  it ;  nor  is  this  only  true  of  our 
material  past,  wherein  there  are  ruins  that 
we  perhaps  can  restore ;  it  is  true  also  of  the 
regions  that  are  closed  to  our  tardy  desire 
for  atonement;  it  is  true,  above  all,  of  our 
moral  past,  and  of  what  we  consider  to  be 
most  irreparable  there. — The  Buried  Tem- 
ple. 


181 


XIII 
THE  FUTURE 


XIII 
THE  FUTURE 

TIME  is  a  mystery  which  we  have  arbi- 
trarily divided  into  a  past  and  a  fu* 
ture,  in  order  to  try  and  understand  some- 
thing of  it.  In  itself,  it  is  almost  certain 
that  it  is  but  an  immense,  eternal,  motion- 
less Present,  in  which  all  that  takes  place 
and  all  that  will  take  place  takes  place  im- 
mutably; in  which  To-morrow,  save  in  the 
ephemeral  mind  of  man,  is  indistinguish- 
able from  Yesterday  or  To-day. — '  The 
Future'  Essay  published  in  Fortnightly 
Review. 

301.  Space  is  more  familiar  to  us,  be- 
cause the  accidents  of  our  organism  place 
us  more  directly  in  relation  with  it  and 
make  it  more  concrete.  We  can  move  in 
it  pretty  freely,  in  a  certain  number  of 
directions,  before  and  behind  us.  That  is 
185 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

why  no  traveller  would  take  it  into  his  head 
to  maintain  that  the  towns  which  he  has 
not  yet  visited  will  become  real  only  at  the 
moment  when  he  sets  his  foot  within  their 
walls.  Yet  this  is  very  nearly  what  we  do 
when  we  persuade  ourselves  that  an  event 
which  has  not  yet  happened  does  not  yet 
exist. — Ibid. 

302.  It  is  in  some  respects  quite  incom- 
prehensible that  we  should  not  know  the 
future.  Probably  a  mere  nothing,  the  dis- 
placement of  a  cerebral  lobe,  the  resetting 
of  Broca's  convolution  in  a  different  man- 
ner, the  addition  of  a  slender  network  of 
nerves  to  those  which  form  our  conscious- 
ness :  any  one  of  those  would  be  enough  to 
make  the  future  unfold  itself  before  us  with 
the  same  clearness,  the  same  majestic  ampli- 
tude as  that  with  which  the  past  is  displayed 
on  the  horizon,  not  only  of  our  individual 
life,  but  also  of  the  life  of  the  species  to 
which  we  belong. — Ibid. 
186 


The  Future 

303.  Realities  are  what  will  happen  to 
us,  having  already  happened  in  the  history 
that  overhangs  our  own,  the  motionless  and 
superhuman  history  of  the  universe.     Il- 
lusion is  the  opaque  veil  woven  with  the 
ephemeral  threads  called  Yesterday,  To- 
day, and  To-morrow,  which  we  embroider 
on  those  realities.     But  it  is  not  indispen- 
sable that  our  existence  should  continue  the 
eternal  dupe  of  that  illusion.     We  may 
even  ask  ourselves  whether  our  extraordi- 
nary unfitness  for  knowing  a  thing  so  sim- 
ple, so  incontestable,  so  perfect  and  so  nec- 
essary as  the  future,  would  not  form  one 
of  the  greatest  subjects  for  astonishment  to 
an  inhabitant  of  another  star  who  should 
visit  us. — Ibid. 

304.  One  would  say  that  man  had  al- 
ways the  feeling  that  a  mere  infirmity  of 
his  mind  separates  him  from  the  future. 
He  knows  it  to  be  there,  living,  actual, 
perfect,   behind   a   kind  of  wall,   around 

187 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

which  he  has  never  ceased  to  turn  since  the 
first  days  of  his  coming  on  this  earth.  Or 
rather,  he  feels  it  within  himself  and  known 
to  a  part  of  himself:  only,  that  unfortunate 
and  disquieting  knowledge  is  unable  to 
travel,  through  the  too-narrow  channels  of 
his  senses,  to  his  consciousness,  which  is  the 
only  place  where  knowledge  acquires  a 
name,  a  useful  strength,  and,  so  to  speak, 
the  freedom  of  the  human  city. — Ibid. 


188 


XIV 
THE  SAGE 


XIV 
THE    SAGE 

THE  greater  our  love  may  be,  the 
greater  the  surface  that  we  expose 
to  majestic  sorrow;  wherefore  none  the  less 
does  the  sage  never  cease  his  endeavours  to 
enlarge  this  beautiful  surface. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 

306.  The  mere  presence  of  the  sage  suf- 
fices  to   paralyse    destiny. — Wisdom    and 
Destiny. 

307.  To  some  of  us,  moral  infirmities 
are  so  many  steps  tending  downwards;  to 
others  they  represent  steps  that  lead  them 
on  high.     The  wise  man  perchance  may 
do  things  that  are  done  by  the  unwise  man 
also ;  but  the  latter  is  forced  by  his  passions 
to  become  the  abject  slave  of  his  instincts, 

whereas  the  sage's  passions  will  end  by 
191 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

illumining  much  that  was  vague  in  his  con- 
sciousness.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

308.  "  As  for  me,"  said  a  sage  one  day, 
"  I  have  never  come  across  a  single  woman 
who  did  not  bring  to  me  something  that 
was  great."    He  was  great  himself  first  of 
all;  therein  lay  his  secret. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

309.  Were  the  only  son  of  Thersites  and 
Socrates  to  die  the  same  day,  Socrates'  grief 
would  in  no  way  resemble  the  grief  of 
Thersites.     Misfortune    or    happiness,    it 
seems,  must  be  chastened  ere  it  knock  at 
the  door  of  the  sage,  but  only  by  stooping 
low  can  it  enter  the  commonplace  soul. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

310.  The  true  sage  is  not  he  who  sees, 
but  he  who,  seeing  the  furthest,  has  the 
deepest  love  for  mankind.     He  who  sees 
without     loving     is     only     straining     his 
eyes  in  the  darkness. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

192 


The  Sage 

311.  We  seem  to  imagine  that  the  sage, 
whose  terrible  death  is  written  in  history, 
spent  all  his  life  in  sad  anticipation  of  the 
end  his  wisdom  prepared;  whereas  in  real- 
ity the  thought  of  death  troubles  the  wise 
far  less  than  the  wicked.     Socrates  had  far 
less  cause  than  Macbeth  to  dread  an  un- 
happy end.    And  unhappy  as  his  death  may 
have  been,  it  at  least  had  not  darkened  his 
life;  he  had  not  spent  all  his  days  in  dying 
preliminary  deaths,  as  did  the  Thane  of 
Cawdor. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

312.  It  must  surely  be  right  to  discard 
all  happiness  injurious  to  others,  but  happi- 
ness that  injures  others  will  not  long  wear 
the  semblance  of  happiness  in  the  eyes  of 
the  sage. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

313.  When  a  man  of  inferior  soul  en- 
deavours to  estimate  a  great  sage's  happi- 
ness, this  happiness  flows  through  his  fin- 
gers like  water;  yet  is  it  heavy  as  gold  in 
the  hand  of  a  brother  sage.     For  to  each 

193 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

is  the  happiness  given  that  he  can  best 
understand. — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

314.  Had  Jesus  Christ  or  Socrates  dwelt 
in  Agamemnon's  palace  among  the  Atrides, 
then  had  there  been  no  Oresteia ;  nor  would 
Oedipus  ever  have  dreamed  of  destroying 
his  sight  if  they  had  been  tranquilly  seated 
on  the  threshold  of  Jocasta's  abode.  Fatal- 
ity shrinks  back  abashed  from  the  soul  that 
has  more  than  once  conquered  her;  there 
are  certain  disasters  she  dare  not  send  forth 
when  this  soul  is  near;  and  the  sage,  as  he 
passes  by,  intervenes  in  numberless  trage- 
dies.— Wisdom  and  Destiny. 


194 


XV 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE 


XV 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE 

I  HAVE  not  yet  forgotten  the  first  apiary 
I  saw,  when  I  learned  to  love  the 
bees.  It  was  many  years  ago  in  a  large 
village  of  Dutch  Flanders,  the  sweet  and 
pleasant  country  whose  love  for  brilliant 
colour  rivals  that  of  Zealand  even,  the  con- 
cave mirror  of  Holland;  a  country  that 
gladly  spreads  out  before  us,  as  so  many 
pretty,  thoughtful  toys,  her  illuminated  ga- 
bles and  waggons  and  towers;  her  cup- 
boards and  clocks  that  gleam  at  the  end  of 
the  passage;  her  little  trees  marshalled 
along  quays  and  canal-banks,  waiting,  one 
almost  might  think,  for  some  quiet,  benef- 
icent ceremony;  her  boats  and  her  barges 
with  sculptured  poops,  her  flower-like  doors 
and  windows,  immaculate  dams,  and  elabo- 
rate, many-coloured  draw-bridges;  and  her 
197 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

little  varnished  houses,  bright  as  new  pot- 
tery, from  which  bell-shaped  dames  come 
forth,  all  a-glitter  with  silver  and  gold,  to 
milk  the  cows  in  the  white-hedged  fields, 
or  spread  the  linen  on  flowery  lawns,  cut 
into  patterns  of  oval  lozenge,  and  most  as- 
toundingly  green. 

To  this  spot,  where  life  would  seem  more 
restricted  than  elsewhere — if  it  be  possible 
for  life  indeed  to  become  restricted — a  sort 
of  aged  philosopher  had  retired,  an  old 
man  somewhat  akin  to  Virgil's — 

'Man  equal  to  kings,  and  approaching  the  gods;' 

whereto  Lafontaine  might  have  added — 

'And,  like  the  gods,  content  and  at  rest." 

Here  had  he  built  his  refuge,  being  a  little 
weary:  not  disgusted,  for  the  large  aver- 
sions are  unknown  to  the  sage,  but  a  little 
weary  of  interrogating  men,  whose  answers 
to  the  only  interesting  questions  one  can 
put  concerning  nature  and  her  veritable 
198 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

laws  are  far  less  simple  than  those  that  are 
given  by  animals  and  plants.  His  happi- 
ness, like  the  Scythian  philosopher's,  lay  all 
in  the  beauties  of  his  garden;  and  best- 
loved  and  visited  most  often,  was  the 
apiary,  composed  of  twelve  domes  of  straw, 
some  of  which  he  had  painted  a  bright 
pink,  and  some  a  pale  yellow,  but  most  of 
all  a  tender  blue,  having  noticed,  long  be- 
fore Sir  John  Lubbock's  demonstrations, 
the  bees'  fondness  for  this  colour.  These 
hives  stood  against  the  wall  of  the  house, 
in  the  angle  formed  by  one  of  those  pleas- 
ant and  graceful  Dutch  kitchens  whose 
earthenware  dresser,  all  bright  with  copper 
and  tin,  reflected  itself  through  the  open 
door  on  to  the  peaceful  canal.  And  the 
water,  burdened  with  these  familiar  images 
beneath  its  curtain  of  poplars,  led  one's  eye 
to  a  calm  horizon  of  mills  and  of  meadow. 
— The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

316.  We  might  be  in  one  of  the  castles 
199 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

of  German  legend,  whose  walls  are  com- 
posed of  myriad  phials  containing  the  souls 
of  men  about  to  be  born.  For  we  are  in 
the  abode  of  life  that  goes  before  life.  On 
all  sides,  asleep  in  their  closely-sealed  cra- 
dles, in  this  infinite  superposition  of  mar- 
vellous six-sided  cells,  lie  thousands  of 
nymphs,  whiter  than  milk,  who  with  folded 
arms  and  head  bent  forward  await  the  hour 
of  awakening.  In  their  uniform  tombs 
that,  isolated,  become  nearly  transparent, 
they  seem  almost  like  hoary  gnomes  lost  in 
deep  thought,  or  legends  of  virgins  whom 
the  folds  of  the  shroud  have  contorted,  who 
are  buried  in  hexagonal  prisms  that  some 
inflexible  geometrician  has  multiplied  to  the 
verge  of  delirium. 

Over  the  entire  area  that  the  vertical 
walls  enclose,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  grow- 
ing world  that  so  soon  shall  transform  it- 
self, that  shall  four  or  five  times  in  succes- 
sion assume  fresh  vestments,  and  then  spin 

200 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

its  own  winding-sheet  in  the  shadow,  hun- 
dreds of  workers  are  dancing  and  flapping 
their  wings.  They  appear  thus  to  generate 
the  necessary  heat,  and  accomplish  some 
other  object  besides  that  is  still  more  ob- 
scure ;  for  this  dance  of  theirs  contains  some 
extraordinary  movements,  so  methodically 
conceived,  that  they  must  infallibly  answer 
some  purpose  which  no  observer  has  yet, 
I  believe,  been  able  to  divine. 

A  few  days  more,  and  the  lids  of  these 
myriad  urns — whereof  a  considerable  hive 
will  contain  from  sixty  to  eighty  thousand 
— will  break,  and  two  large  and  earnest 
black  eyes  will  appear,  surmounted  by  an- 
tennas that  already  are  groping  at  life, 
while  active  jaws  are  busily  engaged  in 
enlarging  the  opening  from  within.  The 
nurses  at  once  come  running;  they  help  the 
young  bee  to  emerge  from  her  prison,  they 
clean  her  and  brush  her,  and  at  the  tip  of 
their  tongue  they  present  the  first  honey  of 

201 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

the  new  life.  But  the  bee  that  has  come 
from  another  world  is  bewildered  still, 
trembling  and  pale;  she  wears  the  feeble 
look  of  a  little  old  man  who  might  have 
escaped  from  his  tomb,  or  perhaps  of  a 
traveller  strewn  with  the  powdery  dust  of 
the  ways  that  lead  unto  life.  She  is  perfect, 
however,  from  head  to  foot;  she  knows  at 
once  all  that  has  to  be  known ;  and,  like  the 
children  of  the  people,  who  learn,  as  it 
were,  at  their  birth,  that  for  them  there 
shall  never  be  time  to  play  or  to  laugh,  she 
instantly  makes  her  way  to  the  cells  that  are 
closed,  and  proceeds  to  beat  her  wings  and 
to  dance  in  cadence,  so  that  she  in  her  turn 
may  quicken  her  buried  sisters. — The  Life 
of  the  Bee. 

317.  The  bees  give  their  honey  and 
sweet-smelling  wax  to  the  man  who  attends 
them;  but  more  precious  gift  still  is  their 
summoning  him  to  the  gladness  of  June, 
to  the  joy  of  the  beautiful  months;  for 

202 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

events  in  which  bees  take  part  happen  only 
when  skies  are  pure,  at  the  winsome  hours 
of  the  year  when  flowers  keep  holiday. 
They  are  the  soul  of  the  summer,  the  clock 
whose  dial  records  the  moments  of  plenty; 
they  are  the  untiring  wing  on  which  deli- 
cate perfumes  float,  the  guide  of  the  quiver- 
ing light-ray,  the  song  of  the  slumberous, 
languid  air;  and  their  flight  is  the  token, 
the  sure  and  melodious  note,  of  all  the 
myriad  fragile  joys  that  are  born  in  the 
heat  and  dwell  in  the  sunshine.  They  teach 
us  to  tune  our  ear  to  the  softest,  most  inti- 
mate whisper  of  these  good,  natural  hours. 
To  him  who  has  known  them  and  loved 
them,  a  summer  where  there  are  no  bees 
becomes  as  sad  and  empty  as  one  without 
flowers  or  birds. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

318,  It  may  be  that  our  own  spiral  light, 
no  less  than  that  of  the  bees,  has  been  kin- 
dled for  no  other  purpose  than  that  of 

amusing  the  darkness.    So,  too,  is  it  possi- 

203 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

ble  that  some  stupendous  incident  may  sud- 
denly surge  from  without,  from  another 
world,  from  a  new  phenomenon,  and  either 
inform  this  effort  with  definite  meaning  or 
definitively  destroy  it.  But  we  must  pro- 
ceed on  our  way  as  though  nothing  ab- 
normal could  ever  befall  us.  Did  we  know 
that  to-morrow  some  revelation — a  mes- 
sage, for  instance,  from  a  more  ancient, 
more  luminous  planet  than  ours — were  to 
root  up  our  nature,  to  suppress  the  laws, 
the  passions,  and  radical  truths  of  our 
being,  our  wisest  plan  still  would  be  to 
devote  the  whole  of  to-day  to  the  study  of 
these  passions,  these  laws,  and  these  truths, 
which  must  blend  and  accord  in  our  mind; 
and  to  remain  faithful  to  the  destiny  im- 
posed on  us,  which  is  to  subdue  and  to  some 
extent  raise  within  and  around  us  the  ob- 
scure forces  of  life.  None  of  these,  per- 
haps, will  survive  the  new  revelation;  but 

the  soul  of  those  who  shall  up  to  the  end 

204 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

have  fulfilled  the  mission  that  is  pre-emi- 
nently the  mission  of  man,  must  inevitably 
be  in  the  front  rank  of  all  to  welcome  this 
revelation;  and  should  they  learn  there- 
from that  indifference,  or  resignation  to  the 
unknown,  is  the  veritable  duty,  they  will  be 
better  equipped  than  the  others  for  the  com- 
prehension of  this  final  resignation  and  in- 
difference, better  able  to  turn  these  to  ac- 
count.— The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

319.  The  bee  is  above  all,  and  even  to 
a  greater  extent  than  the  ant,  a  creature  of 
the  crowd.  She  can  only  live  in  the  midst 
of  a  multitude.  When  she  leaves  the  hive, 
which  is  so  densely  packed  that  she  has  to 
force  her  way  with  blows  of  her  head 
through  the  living  walls  that  enclose  her, 
she  departs  from  her  element.  She  will 
dive  for  an  instant  into  flower-filled  space 
as  the  swimmer  will  dive  into  the  sea  that 
is  filed  with  pearls,  but  under  pain  of  death 
it  behoves  her  at  regular  intervals  to  return 
205 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

and  breathe  the  crowd,  as  the  swimmer 
must  return  and  breathe  the  air. — The  Life 
of  the  Bee. 

320.  The  god  of  the  bees  is  the  future. 
When  we,  in  our  study  of  human  history, 
endeavour  to  gauge  the  moral   force  or 
greatness  of  a  people  or  race,  we  have  one 
standard  of  measurement  only- — the  dignity 
and  permanence  of  their  ideal,  and  the  ab- 
negation wherewith  they  pursue  it.    Have 
we  often  encountered  an  ideal  more  con- 
formable to  the  desires  of  the  universe, 
more  widely  manifest,  more  disinterested 
and  sublime;  have  we  often  discovered  an 
abnegation  more  complete  and  heroic? — 
The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

321.  For  the  sake  of  the  future,  each 
one  renounces  more  than  half  of  her  rights 
and  her  joys.    The  queen  bids  farewell  to 
freedom,  the  light  of  day,  and  the  calyx  of 
flowers;  the  workers  give  five  or  six  years 
of  their  life,  and  shall  never  know  love  or 

206 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

the  joys  of  maternity.  The  queen's  brain 
turns  to  pulp,  that  the  reproductive  organs 
may  profit;  in  the  workers  these  organs  at- 
rophy, to  the  benefit  of  their  intelligence. — 
The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

322.  Can  we  so  readily  divine  the 
thoughts  that  may  govern  the  two  or  three 
people  whom  we  may  chance  to  see  moving 
and  talking  behind  a  closed  window  when 
their  words  do  not  reach  us?  Or  let  us  sup- 
pose that  an  inhabitant  of  Venus  or  Mars 
were  to  contemplate  us  from  the  height  of 
a  mountain,  and  watch  the  little  black 
specks  that  we  form  in  space  as  we  come 
and  go  in  the  streets  and  squares  of  our 
towns.  Would  the  mere  sight  of  our  move- 
ments, our  buildings,  machines,  and  canals 
convey  to  him  any  precise  idea  of  our  mo- 
rality, intellect,  our  manner  of  thinking  and 
loving  and  hoping — in  a  word,  of  our  real 
and  intimate  self?  All  he  could  do,  like 

ourselves  as  we  gaze  at  the  hive,  would  be 
207 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

to  take  note  of  some  facts  that  seem  very 
surprising;  and  from  these  facts  to  deduce 
conclusions  probably  no  less  erroneous,  no 
less  uncertain,  than  those  that  we  choose 
to  form  concerning  the  bee. — The  Life  of 
the  Bee. 

323.  Day  after  day,  at  the  hour  of  sun- 
rise, the  explorers  of  the  dawn  return,  and 
the  hive  awakes  to  receive  the  good  news 
of  the  earth.  'The  lime-trees  are  blossom- 
ing to-day  on  the  banks  of  the  canal.' 
'The  grass  by  the  roadside  is  gay  with 
white  clover.'  The  sage  and  the  lotus 
are  about  to  open.'  'The  mignonette,  the 
lilies,  are  overflowing  with  pollen.'  Where- 
upon the  bees  must  organise  quickly  and 
arrange  to  divide  the  work.  Five  thousand 
of  the  sturdiest  will  sally  forth  to  the  lime- 
trees,  while  three  thousand  juniors  go  and 
refresh  the  white  clover.  Those  who  yes- 
terday were  absorbing  nectar  from  the  co- 
rollas will  to-day  repose  their  tongue  and 
208 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

the  glands  of  their  sac,  and  gather  red 
pollen  from  the  mignonette  or  yellow  pol- 
len from  the  tall  lilies;  for  never  shall  you 
see  a  bee  collecting  or  mixing  pollen  of  a 
different  colour  or  species,  and  indeed  one 
of  the  chief  preoccupations  of  the  hive  is 
the  methodical  bestowal  of  these  pollens  in 
the  store-rooms,  in  strict  accordance  with 
their  origin  and  colour.  Thus  does  the 
hidden  genius  issue  its  commands.  The 
workers  immediately  sally  forth  in  long 
black  files,  whereof  each  one  will  fly 
straight  to  its  allotted  task.  "  The  bees," 
says  de  Layens,  "  would  seem  to  be  per- 
fectly informed  as  to  the  locality,  the  rela- 
tive melliferous  value,  and  the  distance,  of 
every  melliferous  plant  within  a  certain  ra- 
dius from  the  hive." — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 
324.  Our  hive,  then,  is  preparing  to 
swarm;  making  ready  for  the  great  immo- 
lation to  the  exacting  god  of  the  race.  In 

obedience  to  the  order  of  the  spirit — an 
209 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

order  that  to  us  may  well  seem  incompre- 
hensible, for  it  is  entirely  opposed  to  all  our 
own  instincts  and  feelings — 60,000  or  70,- 
ooo  bees  out  of  the  80,000  or  90,000  that 
form  the  whole  population,  will  abandon 
the  maternal  city  at  the  prescribed  hour. 
They  will  not  leave  at  a  moment  of  despair, 
or  desertwith  sudden  orwild  resolve  a  home 
laid  waste  by  famine,  disease,  or  war.  No; 
the  exile  has  long  been  planned,  and  the 
favourable  hour  patiently  awaited.  Were 
the  hive  poor,  had  it  suffered  from  pillage 
or  storm,  had  misfortune  befallen  the  royal 
family,  the  bees  would  not  forsake  it.  They 
leave  it  only  when  it  has  attained  the  apo- 
gee of  its  prosperity;  at  a  time  when,  after 
the  arduous  labours  of  the  spring,  the  im- 
mense palace  of  wax  has  its  120,000  well- 
arranged  cells  overflowing  with  new  honey, 
and  with  the  many-coloured  flour  known  as 
"  bees'  bread,"  on  which  nymphs  and  larvae 
are  fed. 

310 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

Never  is  the  hive  more  beautiful  than 
on  the  eve  of  its  heroic  renunciation,  in  its 
unrivalled  hour  of  fullest  abundance  and 
joy;  serene,  for  all  its  apparent  excitement 
and  feverishness.  Let  us  endeavour  to  pic- 
ture it  to  ourselves — not  as  it  appears  to 
the  bees,  for  we  cannot  tell  in  what  magical, 
formidable  fashion  things  may  be  reflected 
in  the  6000  or  7000  facets  of  their  lateral 
eyes  and  the  triple  cyclopean  eye  on  their 
brow — but  as  it  would  seem  to  us  were  we 
of  their  stature. 

From  the  height  of  a  dome  more  colossal 
than  that  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  waxen 
walls  descend  to  the  ground,  balanced  in 
the  void  and  the  darkness;  gigantic  and 
manifold,  vertical  and  parallel  geometric 
constructions,  to  which,  for  relative  preci- 
sion, audacity,  and  vastness,  no  human  struc- 
ture is  comparable.  Each  of  these  walls, 
whose  substance  still  is  immaculate  and 
fragrant,  of  virginal,  silvery  freshness,  con- 

211 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

tains  thousands  of  cells  stored  with  provi- 
sions sufficient  to  feed  the  whole  people  for 
several  weeks.  Here,  lodged  in  transparent 
cells,  are  the  pollens,  love-ferment  of  every 
flower  of  spring,  making  brilliant  splashes 
of  red  and  yellow,  of  black  and  mauve. 
Close  by,  sealed  with  a  seal  to  be  broken 
only  in  days  of  supreme  distress,  the  honey 
of  April  is  stored,  most  limpid  and  per- 
fumed of  all,  in  twenty  thousand  reservoirs 
that  form  a  long  and  magnificent  embroid- 
ery of  gold,  whose  borders  hang  stiff  and 
rigid.  Still  lower  the  honey  of  May  ma- 
tures, in  great  open  vats  by  whose  side 
watchful  cohorts  maintain  an  incessant  cur- 
rent of  air.  In  the  centre,  and  far  from 
the  light  whose  diamond  rays  steal  in 
through  the  only  opening,  in  the  warmest 
part  of  the  hive,  stands  the  abode  of  the 
future;  here  does  it  sleep,  and  wake.  For 
this  is  the  royal  domain  of  the  brood-cells, 
set  apart  for  the  queen  and  her  acolytes; 

212 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

about  10,000  cells  wherein  the  eggs  repose, 
15,000  or  16,000  chambers  tenanted  by 
larvae,  40,000  dwellings  inhabited  by  white 
nymphs  to  whom  thousands  of  nurses  minis- 
ter. And  finally,  in  the  holy  of  holies  of 
these  parts,  are  the  three,  four,  six,  or 
twelve  sealed  palaces,  vast  in  size  compared 
with  the  others,  where  the  adolescent 
princesses  lie  who  await  their  hour,  wrapped 
in  a  kind  of  shroud,  all  of  them  motionless 
and  pale,  and  fed  in  the  darkness. — The 
Life  of  the  Bee. 

325.  In  the  hive  the  swarming  bees  have 
begun  to  lose  patience,  the  hive  whose  black 
and  vibrating  waves  are  bubbling  and  over- 
flowing, like  a  brazen  cup  beneath  an  ardent 
sun.    It  is  noon,  and  the  heat  so  great  that 
the  assembled  trees  would  seem  almost  to 
hold  back  their  leaves,  as  a  man  holds  his 
breath  before  something  very  tender  but 
very  grave. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

326.  At  the  moment  the  signal  is  given, 

213 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

it  is  as  though  one  sudden  mad  impulse  had 
simultaneously  flung  open  wide  every  single 
gate  in  the  city ;  and  the  black  throng  issues, 
or  rather  pours  forth,  in  a  double,  or  treble, 
or  quadruple  jet,  as  the  number  of  exits 
may  be — in  a  tense,  direct,  vibrating,  unin- 
terrupted stream  that  at  once  dissolves  and 
melts  into  space,  where  the  myriad  trans- 
parent furious  wings  weave  a  tissue  throb- 
bing with  sound.  And  this  for  some  mo- 
ments will  quiver  right  over  the  hive,  with 
prodigious  rustle  of  gossamer  silks  that 
countless  electrified  hands  might  be  cease- 
lessly rending  and  stitching;  it  floats  un- 
dulating, it  trembles  and  flutters,  like  a  veil 
of  gladness  invisible  fingers  support  in  the 
sky,  and  wave  to  and  fro,  from  the  flowers 
to  the  blue,  expecting  sublime  advent  or  de- 
parture. And  at  last  one  angle  declines,  an- 
other is  lifted;  the  radiant  mantle  unites  its 
four  sunlit  corners ;  and,  like  the  wonderful 
carpet  the  fairy-tale  speaks  of,  that  flits 
214 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

across  space  to  obey  its  master's  command, 
it  steers  its  straight  course,  bending  forward 
a  little,  as  though  to  hide  in  its  folds  the 
sacred  presence  of  the  future,  towards  the 
willow,  the  pear-tree,  or  lime  whereon  the 
queen  has  alighted;  and  round  her  each 
rhythmical  wave  comes  to  rest,  as  though 
on  a  nail  of  gold,  and  suspends  its  fabric  of 
pearls  and  of  luminous  wings. 

And  then  there  is  silence  once  more ;  and, 
in  an  instant,  this  mighty  tumult,  this  awful 
curtain  apparently  laden  with  unspeakable 
menace  and  anger,  this  bewildering  golden 
hail  that  streamed  upon  every  object  near 
— all  these  become  merely  a  great  inoffen- 
sive, peaceful  cluster  of  bees,  composed  of 
thousands  of  little  motionless  groups,  that 
patiently  wait,  as  they  hang  from  the 
branch  of  a  tree,  for  the  scouts  to  return 
who  have  gone  in  search  of  a  place  of 
shelter. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

327.  It  comes  to  pass  with  the  bees  as 
215 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

with  most  of  the  things  in  this  world;  we 
remark  some  few  of  their  habits:  we  say, 
they  do  this,  they  work  in  such  and  such 
fashion,  their  queens  are  born  thus,  their 
workers  are  virgin,  they  all  swarm  at  a  cer- 
tain time.  And  then  we  imagine  we  know 
them,  and  ask  nothing  more.  We  watch 
them  hasten  from  flower  to  flower,  we  see 
the  constant  agitation  within  the  hive ;  their 
life  seems  very  simple  to  us,  and  bounded, 
like  every  life,  by  the  instinctive  cares  of 
reproduction  and  nourishment.  But  let  the 
eye  draw  near,  and  endeavour  to  see;  and 
at  once  the  least  phenomenon  of  all  be- 
comes overpoweringly  complex ;  we  are  con- 
fronted by  the  enigma  of  intellect,  of  des- 
tiny, will,  aim,  means,  causes ;  by  the  incom- 
prehensible organisation  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant act  of  life. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 
328.  But  what  have  we  to  do,  some  will 
ask,  with  the  intelligence  of  the  bees? 
What  concern  is  it  of  ours  whether  this  be 
216 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

a  little  less  or  a  little  more?  Why  weigh, 
with  such  infinite  care,  a  minute  fragment 
of  almost  invisible  matter,  as  though  it 
were  a  fluid  whereon  depended  the  destiny 
of  man?  I  hold,  and  exaggerate  nothing, 
that  our  interest  herein  is  of  the  most  con- 
siderable. The  discovery  of  a  sign  of  true 
intellect  outside  ourselves  procures  us  some- 
thing of  the  emotion  Robinson  Crusoe  felt 
when  he  saw  the  imprint  of  a  human  foot 
on  the  sandy  beach  of  his  island.  We  seem 
to  be  less  solitary  than  we  had  believed. — 
The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

329.  It  must  not  be  inferred  that  the 
hive  reveals  no  faults.  There  is  one  master- 
piece, the  hexagonal  cell,  that  touches  abso- 
lute perfection;  a  perfection  that  all  the 
geniuses  in  the  world,  were  they  to  meet  in 
conclave,  could  in  no  way  enhance.  No 
living  creature,  not  even  man,  has  achieved 
in  the  centre  of  his  sphere,  what  the  bee  has 
achieved  in  her  own;  and  were  some  one 
217 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

from  another  world  to  descend  and  ask  of 
the  earth  the  most  perfect  creation  of  the 
logic  of  life,  we  should  needs  have  to  offer 
the  humble  comb  of  honey. — The  Life  of 
the  Bee. 

330.  Some  little  time  back  I  conducted 
a  friend  to  one  of  my  hives  of  glass,  and 
showed  him  the  movements  of  his  wheel,  as 
readily  perceptible  as  the  great  wheel  of  a 
clock — showed  him,  in  all  its  bareness,  the 
universal  agitation  on  every  comb,  the  per- 
petual, frantic,  bewildered  haste  of  the 
nurses  around  the  brood-cells;  the  living 
gangways  and  ladders  formed  by  the  mak- 
ers of  wax;  the  abounding,  unceasing  activ- 
ity of  the  entire  population,  and  their  piti- 
less, useless  effort;  the  ardent,  feverish 
coming  and  going  of  all;  the  general  ab- 
sence of  sleep  save  in  the  cradles  alone, 
around  which  continuous  labour  kept 
watch;  the  denial  of  even  the  repose  of 
death  in  a  home  which  permits  no  illness 
218 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

and  accords  no  grave;  and  my  friend,  his 
astonishment  over,  soon  turned  his  eyes 
away,  and  in  them  I  could  read  the  signs 
of  I  know  not  what  saddened  fear. 

And  truly,  underlying  the  gladness  that 
we  note  first  of  all  in  the  hive;  underlying 
the  dazzling  memories  of  beautiful  days, 
that  render  it  the  storehouse  of  summer's 
most  precious  jewels;  underlying  the  bliss- 
ful journeys  that  knit  it  so  close  to  the 
flowers  and  to  running  water,  to  the  sky, 
to  the  peaceful  abundance  of  all  that  makes 
for  beauty  and  happiness — underlying  all 
these  exterior  joys  there  reposes  a  sadness 
as  deep  as  the  eye  of  man  can  behold.  And 
we,  who  dimly  gaze  on  these  things  with 
our  own  blind  eyes,  we  know  full  well  that 
it  is  not  they  alone  whom  we  cannot  under- 
stand, but  that  before  us  there  lies  a  piti- 
able form  of  the  great  power  that  quickens 
us  all. 

Sad  let  it  be,  as  all  things  in  nature  are 
219 


Thoughts  from   Maeterlinck 

sad,  when  our  eyes  rest  too  closely  upon 
them.  And  thus  it  ever  shall  be  so  long 
as  we  know  not  her  secret,  or  even  whether 
secret  truly  there  be.  And  should  we  dis- 
cover some  day  that  there  is  no  secret,  or 
that  the  secret  is  monstrous,  other  duties 
will  then  arise  that  as  yet,  perhaps,  have  no 
name.  Let  our  heart,  if  it  will,  in  the 
meantime  repeat  "  It  is  sad;"  but  let  our 
reason  be  content  to  add}  "  Thus  it  is." — 
The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

331.  It  will  happen  at  times  that  two 
queens  will  be  hatched  simultaneously,  the 
occurrence  being  rare,  however,  for  the 
bees  take  special  care  to  prevent  it.  But 
whenever  this  does  take  place,  the  deadly 
combat  will  begin  the  moment  they  emerge 
from  their  cradles;  and  of  this  combat 
Huber  was  the  first  to  remark  an  extraor- 
dinary feature.  Each  time,  it  would  seem, 
that  the  queens,  in  their  passes,  present 
their  chitinous  cuirasses  to  each  other  in 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

such  a  fashion  that  the  drawing  of  the 
sting  would  prove  mutually  fatal,  one  might 
almost  believe  that,  even  as  a  god  or  a  god- 
dess was  wont  to  interpose  in  the  combats 
of  the  Iliad,  so  a  god  or  a  goddess,  the 
divinity  of  the  race  perhaps,  interposes 
here;  and  the  two  warriors,  stricken  with 
simultaneous  terror,  divide  and  fly,  to  meet 
shortly  after  and  separate  again  should  the 
double  disaster  once  more  menace  the  fu- 
ture of  their  people;  till  at  last  one  of  them 
shall  succeed  in  surprising  her  clumsier,  or 
less  wary  rival,  and  in  killing  her  without 
risk  to  herself.  For  the  law  of  the  race 
has  called  for  one  sacrifice  only. — The  Life 
of  the  Bee. 

332.  The  habits,  the  passions  that  we 
regard  as  inherent  in  the  bee,  will  all  be 
lacking  in  the  queen.  She  will  not  crave  for 
air,  or  the  light  of  the  sun;  she  will  die 
without  even  once  having  tasted  a  flower. 
Her  existence  will  pass  in  the  shadow,  in 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

the  midst  of  a  restless  throng,  her  sole  occu- 
pation the  indefatigable  search  for  cradles 
that  she  must  fill.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
alone  will  know  the  disquiet  of  love.  Not 
even  twice,  it  may  be,  in  her  life  shall  she 
look  on  the  light — for  the  departure  of  the 
swarm  is  by  no  means  inevitable;  on  one 
occasion  only,  perhaps,  will  she  make  use 
of  her  wings,  but  then  it  will  be  to  fly  to 
her  lover.  It  is  strange  to  see  so  many 
things — organs,  ideas,  desires,  habits,  an 
entire  destiny — depending,  not  on  a  germ, 
which  were  the  ordinary  miracle  of  the 
plant,  the  animal,  and  man,  but  on  a  curious 
inert  substance:  a  drop  of  honey. — The 
Life  of  the  Bee. 

333.  No  bee,  it  would  seem,  dare  take 
on  itself  the  horror  of  direct  and  bloody 
regicide.  Whenever,  therefore,  the  good 
order  and  prosperity  of  the  republic  appear 
to  demand  that  a  queen  shall  die,  they  en- 
deavour to  give  to  her  death  some  sem- 

222 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

blance  of  natural  disease,  and  by  infinite 
subdivision  of  the  crime,  to  render  it  almost 
anonymous.  They  will  therefore,  to  use 
the  picturesque  expression  of  the  apiarist, 
*  ball '  the  queenly  intruder;  in  other  words, 
they  will  entirely  surround  her  with  their 
innumerable  interlaced  bodies.  They  will 
thus  form  a  sort  of  living  prison  wherein 
the  captive  is  unable  to  move;  and  in  this 

prison  they  will  keep  her  for  twenty-four 
hours,  if  need  be,  till  the  victim  die  of  suf- 
focation or  hunger. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 
334.  Around  the  virgin  queen,  and 
dwelling  with  her  in  the  hive,  are  hundreds 
of  exuberant  males,  for  ever  drunk  on 
honey;  the  sole  reason  for  their  existence 
being  one  act  of  love.  But,  notwithstand- 
ing the  incessant  contact  of  two  desires  that 
elsewhere  invariably  triumph  over  every  ob- 
stacle, the  union  never  takes  place  in  the 
hive,  nor  has  it  been  possible  to  bring  about 

the  impregnation  of  a  captive  queen.  While 
223 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

she  lives  in  their  midst  the  lovers  about  her 
know  not  what  she  is.  They  seek  her  in 
space,  in  the  remote  depths  of  the  horizon, 
never  suspecting  that  they  have  but  this 
moment  quitted  her,  have  shared  the  same 
comb  with  her,  have  brushed  against  her, 
perhaps,  in  the  eagerness  of  their  departure. 
One  might  almost  believe  that  those  won- 
derful eyes  of  theirs,  which  cover  their  head 
as  though  with  a  glittering  helmet,  do  not 
recognise  or  desire  her  save  when  she  soars 
in  the  blue.  Each  day,  from  noon  till 
three,  when  the  sun  shines  resplendent,  this 
plumed  horde  sallies  forth  in  search  of  the 
bride,  who  is  indeed  more  royal,  more  diffi- 
cult of  conquest  than  the  most  inaccessible 
princess  of  fairy  legend;  for  twenty  or 
thirty  tribes  will  hasten  from  all  the  neigh- 
bouring cities,  her  court  thus  consisting  of 
more  than  ten  thousand  suitors;  and  from 
these  ten  thousand  one  alone  will  be  chosen, 
for  the  unique  kiss  of  an  instant  that  shall 
224 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

wed  him  to  death  no  less  than  to  happiness ; 
while  the  others  will  fly  helplessly  round 
the  intertwined  pair,  and  soon  will  perish 
without  ever  again  beholding  this  prodi- 
gious and  fatal  apparition. — The  Life  of 
the  Bee. 

335.  Marvellous  nuptials  these,  the  most 
fairy-like  that  can  be  conceived,  azure  and 
tragic,  raised  high  above  life  by  the  im- 
petus of  desire;  imperishable  and  terrible, 
unique  and  bewildering,  solitary  and  infi- 
nite. An  admirable  ecstacy,  wherein  death, 
supervening  in  all  that  our  sphere  has  of 
most  limpid  and  loveliest,  in  virginal,  limit- 
less space,  stamps  the  instant  of  happiness 
on  the  sublime  transparence  of  the  great 
sky;  purifying  in  that  immaculate  light  the 
something  of  wretchedness  that  always  hov- 
ers around  love,  rendering  the  kiss  one  that 
can  never  be  forgotten;  and,  content  this 
time  with  moderate  tithe,  proceeding  her- 
self, with  hands  that  are  almost  maternal, 
225 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

to  introduce  and  unite,  in  one  body,  for  a 
long  and  inseparable  future,  two  little  frag- 
ile lives. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

336.  The  queen  starts  her  flight  back- 
wards, returns  twice  or  thrice  to  the  alight- 
ing-board, and  then,  having  definitely  fixed 
in  her  mind  the  exact  situation  and  aspect 
of  the  kingdom  she  has  never  yet  seen  from 
without,  she  departs  like  an  arrow  to  the 
zenith  of  the  blue.  She  soars  to  a  height, 
a  luminous  zone,  that  other  bees  attain  at 
no  period  of  their  life.  Far  away,  caress- 
ing their  idleness  in  the  midst  of  the  flow- 
ers, the  males  have  beheld  the  apparition, 
have  breathed  the  magnetic  perfume  that 
spreads  from  group  to  group,  till  every 
apiary  near  is  instinct  with  it.  Immediate- 
ly crowds  collect  and  follow  her  into  the 
sea  of  gladness,  whose  limpid  boundaries 
ever  recede.  She,  drunk  with  her  wings, 
obeying  the  magnificent  law  of  the  race  that 

chooses   her   lover,    and   enacts   that   the 

226 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

strongest  alone  shall  attain  her  in  the  soli- 
tude of  the  ether,  she  rises  still;  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  the  blue  morning 
air  rushes  into  her  stigmata,  singing  •  its 
song,  like  the  blood  of  heaven,  in  the  myr- 
iad tubes  of  the  tracheal  sacs,  nourished  on 
space,  that  fill  the  centre  of  her  body.  She 
rises  still.  A  region  must  be  found  un- 
haunted  by  birds,  that  else  might  profane 
the  mystery.  She  rises  still;  and  already 
the  ill-assorted  troop  below  are  dwindling 
and  falling  asunder.  The  feeble,  infirm, 
the  aged,  unwelcome,  ill  fed,  who  have 
flown  from  inactive  or  impoverished  cities 
— these  renounce  the  pursuit  and  disappear 
in  the  void.  Only  a  small,  indefatigable 
cluster  remain,  suspended  in  infinite  opal. 
She  summons  her  wings  for  one  final  effort ; 
and  now  the  chosen  of  incomprehensible 
forces  has  reached  her,  has  seized  her,  and, 
bounding  aloft  with  united  impetus,  the 
ascending  spiral  of  their  intertwined  flight 
227 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

whirls  for  one  second  in  the  hostile  mad- 
ness of  love. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

337.  The  great  idle  drones,  asleep  in 
unconscious  groups  on  the  melliferous 
walls,  are  rudely  torn  from  their  slumbers 
by  an  army  of  wrathful  virgins.  They 
wake,  in  pious  wonder;  they  cannot  believe 
their  eyes ;  and  their  astonishment  struggles 
through  their  sloth  as  a  moonbeam  through 
marshy  water.  They  stare  amazedly  round 
them,  convinced  that  they  must  be  victims 
of  some  mistake;  and  the  mother-idea  of 
their  life  being  first  to  assert  itself  in  their 
dull  brain,  they  take  a  step  towards  the 
vats  of  honey  to  seek  comfort  there.  But 
ended  for  them  are  the  days  of  May  honey, 
the  wine-flower  or  lime-trees,  and  fragrant 
ambrosia  of  thyme  and  sage,  or  marjoram 
and  white  clover.  Where  the  path  once 
lay  open  to  the  kindly,  abundant  reservoirs, 
that  so  invitingly  offered  their  waxen  and 
sugary  mouths,  there  stands  now  a  burning- 
228 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

bush  all  alive  with  poisonous,  bristling 
stings.  The  atmosphere  of  the  city  is 
changed;  in  lieu  of  the  friendly  perfume 
of  honey  the  acrid  odour  of  poison  pre- 
vails; thousands  of  tiny  drops  glisten  at  the 
end  of  the  stings,  and  diffuse  rancour  and 
hatred.  Before  the  bewildered  parasites 
are  able  to  realise  that  the  happy  laws  of 
the  city  have  crumbled,  dragging  down  in 
most  inconceivable  fashion  their  own  plenti- 
ful destiny,  each  one  is  assailed  by  three  or 
four  envoys  of  justice;  and  these  vigorously 
proceed  to  cut  off  his  wings,  saw  through 
the  petiole  that  connects  the  abdomen  with 
the  thorax,  amputate  the  feverish  antennae, 
and  seek  an  opening  between  the  rings  of 
his  cuirass  through  which  to  pass  their 
sword.  No  defence  is  attempted  by  the 
enormous,  but  unarmed  creatures;  they  try 
to  escape,  or  oppose  their  mere  bulk  to  the 
blows  that  rain  down  upon  them.  Forced 
on  to  their  back,  with  their  relentless  ene- 
229 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

mies  clinging  doggedly  to  them,  they  will 
use  their  powerful  claws  to  shift  them  from 
side  to  side ;  or,  turning  on  themselves,  they 
will  drag  the  whole  group  round  and  round 
in  wild  circles,  which  exhaustion  soon  brings 
to  an  end.  And,  in  a  very  brief  space,  their 
appearance  becomes  so  deplorable,  that 
pity,  never  far  from  justice  in  the  depths  of 
our  heart,  quickly  returns,  and  would  seek 
forgiveness,  though  vainly,  of  the  stern 
workers  who  recognise  only  Nature's  harsh 
and  profound  laws.  The  wings  of  the 
wretched  creatures  are  torn,  their  antennae 
bitten,  the  segments  of  their  legs  wrenched 
off ;  and  their  magnificent  eyes,  mirrors  once 
of  the  exuberant  flowers,  flashing  back  the 
blue  light  and  the  innocent  pride  of  sum- 
mer, now,  softened  by  suffering,  reflect  only 
the  anguish  and  distress  of  their  end.  Some 
succumb  to  their  wounds,  and  are  at  once 
borne  away  to  distant  cemeteries  by  two  or 
three  of  their  executioners.  Others,  whose 
230 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

injuries  are  less,  succeed  in  sheltering  them- 
selves in  some  corner,  where  they  lie,  all 
huddled  together,  surrounded  by  an  inexor- 
able guard,  until  they  perish  of  want. 
Many  will  reach  the  door  and  escape  into 
space,  dragging  their  adversaries  with 
them;  but,  towards  evening,  impelled  by 
hunger  and  cold,  they  return  in  crowds  to 
the  entrance  of  the  hive  to  beg  for  shelter. 
But  there  they  encounter  another  pitiless 
guard.  The  next  morning,  before  setting 
forth  on  their  journey,  the  workers  will 
clear  the  threshold,  strewn  with  the  corpses 
of  the  useless  giants;  and  all  recollections 
of  the  idle  race  disappear  till  the  following 
spring. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 

338.  Let  not  the  possibility  of  general 
annihilation  blur  our  perception  of  the  task 
before  us;  above  all,  let  us  not  count  on  the 
miraculous  aid  of  chance.  Hitherto,  the 
promises  of  our  imagination  notwithstand- 
ing, we  have  always  been  left  to  ourselves, 
231 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

to  our  own  resources.  It  is  to  our  hum- 
blest efforts  that  every  useful,  enduring 
achievement  of  this  earth  is  due.  It  is  open 
to  us,  if  we  choose,  to  await  the  better  or 
worse  that  may  follow  some  alien  accident, 
but  on  condition  that  such  expectation  hin- 
der not  our  human  task.  Here  again  do 
the  bees,  as  Nature  always,  provide  a  most 
excellent  lesson.  In  the  hive  there  has  truly 
been  prodigious  intervention.  The  bees  are 
in  the  hands  of  a  power  capable  of  annihi- 
lating or  modifying  their  race,  of  trans- 
forming their  destinies;  the  bees'  thraldom 
is  far  more  definite  than  our  own.  There- 
fore none  the  less  do  they  perform  their 
profound  and  primitive  duty.  And,  among 
them,  it  is  precisely  those  whose  obedience 
to  duty  is  most  complete  who  are  able  to 
profit  most  fully  to-day  by  the  supernatural 
intervention  that  has  raised  the  destiny  of 
their  species.  And,  indeed,  to  discover  the 
unconquerable  duty  of  a  being  is  less  diffi- 


222 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

cult  than  one  imagines.  It  is  ever  to  be  read 
in  the  distinguishing  organs,  whereto  the 
others  are  all  subordinate.  And  just  as  it 
is  written  in  the  tongue,  the  stomach,  and 
mouth  of  the  bee  that  it  must  make  honey, 
so  is  it  written  in  our  eyes,  our  ears,  our 
nerves,  our  marrow,  in  every  lobe  of  our 
head,  in  the  whole  nervous  system  of  our 
body,  that  we  have  been  created  in  order  to 
transform  all  that  we  absorb  of  the  things 
of  earth  into  a  particular  energy,  of  a  qual- 
ity unique  on  this  globe.  I  know  of  no 
other  creature  that  has  thus  been  fashioned 
to  produce  this  strange  fluid,  which  we  call 
thought,  intelligence,  understanding,  rea- 
son, soul,  spirit,  cerebral  power,  virtue, 
goodness,  justice,  knowledge;  for  it  has  a 
thousand  names,  though  only  one  essence. 
To  this  essence  all  things  within  us  are 
sacrificed.  Our  muscles,  our  health,  the 
agility  of  our  limbs,  the  equilibrium  or  our 
animal  functions,  the  tranquillity  of  our  life 
233 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

— all  these  feel  the  ever-increasing  weight 
of  its  preponderance.  It  is  the  most  pre- 
cious, most  difficult  state  to  which  matter 
can  be  raised.  Flame,  heat,  light,  even  life, 
and  the  instinct  more  subtle  than  life,  and 
most  of  the  intangible  forces  which  crowned 
the  world  before  our  coming,  have  paled  at 
the  contact  of  the  new  influence.  Whither 
it  will  lead  us  we  know  not,  or  what  it 
will  do  with  us,  or  become  in  our  hands. 
All  this  will  be  revealed  when  at  last  it 
shall  reign  in  the  plenitude  of  its  powers. 
In  the  meanwhile,  let  our  one  care 
be  to  give  to  it  all  that  it  asks  of  us,  to 
sacrifice  for  it  whatever  might  retard  its 
development.  This,  at  the  moment,  with- 
out doubt  is  our  first  and  our  clearest  duty. 
And  from  it  we  shall  learn  the  others.  It 
will  feed  them,  extend  them,  in  accordance 
as  itself  is  fed,  just  as  the  waters  of  the  val- 
ley, in  accordance  with  the  mysterious 
aliment  they  receive  from  the  mountain- 
234 


The  Life  of  the  Bee 

peak.  Let  us  not  vex  ourselves  with  asking 
who  it  is  shall  benefit  by  the  force  that  is 
thus  accumulating  at  our  expense.  The 
bees  know  not  whether  they  will  eat  the 
honey  they  harvest,  as  we  know  not  who 
will  profit  by  the  spiritual  substance  we  in- 
troduce into  the  universe.  As  they  go  from 
flower  to  flower  collecting  more  honey  than 
themselves  and  their  offspring  can  need,  let 
us  go  from  reality  to  reality  seeking  food 
for  the  incomprehensible  flame,  and,  certain 
of  having  fulfilled  our  organic  duty,  pre- 
pare ourselves  thus  for  whatever  befall. 
Let  us  nourish  this  flame  on  our  feelings 
and  passions,  on  all  that  we  see  and  think, 
that  we  hear  and  touch,  on  its  own  essence, 
which  is  the  idea  it  derives  from  the  dis- 
coveries, experience,  and  observation  that 
result  from  its  every  movement.  A  time 
will  then  come  when  all  things  will  turn  so 
naturally  to  good  in  a  spirit  that  has  given 
itself  to  the  loyal  desire  of  this  simple,  hu- 
235 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

man  duty,  that  the  very  suspicion  of  the  pos- 
sible aimlessness  of  its  exhausting  effort  will 
only  render  the  duty  the  clearer;  will  only 
add  more  purity,  power,  disinterestedness, 
and  freedom  to  the  ardour  with  which  it 
still  seeks. — The  Life  of  the  Bee. 


•36 


XVI 

LITERATURE 


XVI 
LITERATURE 

I  HAVE  at  this  moment  before  me  the 
history  of  a  mighty  and  passionate  soul, 
whom  every  adventure  that  makes  for  the 
sorrow  or  gladness  of  man  would  seem  to 
have  passed  by  with  averted  head.  It  is  of 
Emily  Bronte  I  speak,  than  whom  the  first 
fifty  years  of  the  last  century  produced  no 
woman  of  more  incontestable  genius. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

340.  Viewed  from  without,  what  life 
could  be  more  dreary  and  colourless,  more 
futile  and  icily  cold,  than  that  of  Emily 
Bronte?  But  where  shall  we  take  our 
stand,  when  we  pass  such  a  life  in  review, 
so  as  best  to  discover  its  truth,  to  judge  it, 
approve  it,  and  love  it?  How  different  it 
all  appears  as  we  leave  the  little  parsonage, 
hidden  away  on  the  moors,  and  let  our  eyes 
239 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

rest  on  the  soul  of  our  heroine  I  It  is  rare 
indeed  that  we  thus  can  follow  the  life  of 
a  soul  in  a  body  that  knew  no  adventure; 
but  it  is  less  rare  than  might  be  imagined 
that  a  soul  should  have  life  of  its  own, 
which  hardly  depends,  if  at  all,  on  incident 
of  week  or  of  year.  In  '  Wuthering 
Heights ' — wherein  this  soul  gives  to  the 
world  its  passions,  desires,  reflections, 
realisations,  ideals,  which  is,  in  a  word,  its 
real  history — in  *  Wuthering  Heights ' 
there  is  more  adventure,  more  passion, 
more  energy,  more  ardour,  more  love,  than 
is  needed  to  give  life  or  fulfilment  to 
twenty  heroic  existences,  twenty  destinies 
of  gladness  or  sorrow.  Not  a  single  event 
ever  paused  as  it  passed  by  her  threshold; 
yet  did  every  event  she  could  claim  take 
place  in  her  heart,  with  incomparable  force 
and  beauty,  with  matchless  precision  and 
detail.  We  say  that  nothing  ever  hap- 
pened; but  did  not  all  things  really  happen 
240 


Literature 

to  her  much  more  directly  and  tangibly  than 
unto  most  of  us,  seeing  that  everything 
that  took  place  about  her,  everything  that 
she  saw  or  heard,  was  transformed  within 
her  into  thoughts  and  feelings,  into  indul- 
gent love,  admiration,  adoration  of  life! — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

341.  We  feel  that  one  must  have  lived 
for  thirty  years  beneath  burning  chains  of 
burning  kisses  to  learn  .what  she  has 
learned;  to  dare  so  confidently  to  set  forth, 
with  such  minuteness,  such  unerring  cer- 
tainty, the  delirium  of  those  two  predestined 
lovers  of  '  Wuthering  Heights '  ;  to  mark 
the  self-conflicting  movements  of  the  tender- 
ness that  would  make  suffer  and  the  cruelty 
that  would  make  glad,  the  felicity  that 
prayed  for  death  and  the  despair  that  clung 
to  life;  the  repulsion  that  desired,  the  desire 
drunk  with  repulsion — love  surcharged 
with  hatred,  hatred  staggering  beneath  its 
load  of  love.  .  . — Wisdom  and  Destiny. 
241 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

342.  One  may  affirm  that  a  poem  draws 
the  nearer  to  beauty  and  loftier  truth  in  the 
measure  that  it  eliminates  words  that  mere- 
ly explain  the  action,  and  substitutes  for 
them  others  that  reveal,  not  the  so-called 
'  soul-state,'  but  I  know  not  what  intangible 
and  unceasing  striving  of  the  soul  towards 
its  own  beauty  and  truth. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

343.  The  destiny  of  man  is  as  subject 
to  unknown  forces  to-day  as  it  was  in  the 
days  of  old;  and  though  it  be  true  that  some 
of  these  forces  have  vanished,  others  have 
arisen  in  their  stead.    The  number  of  those 
that  are  really  all-powerful  has  in  no  way 
diminished.      Many    attempts    have    been 
made,  and  in  countless  fashions,  to  explain 
the  action  of  these  forces  and  account  for 
their  intervention;  and  one  might  almost 
believe  that  the  poets,  aware  of  the  futility 
of  those  explanations  in  face  of  a  reality 
which,  all  things  notwithstanding,  is  ever 

242 


Literature 

revealing  more  and  more  of  Itself,  have 
fallen  back  on  fatality  as  in  some  measure 
representing  the  inexplicable,  or  at  least  the 
sadness  of  the  inexplicable.  This  is  all  that 
we  find  in  Ibsen,  the  Russian  novels,  the 
highest  class  of  modern  fiction,  Flau- 
bert, &c.  (see  War  and  Peace,  for  instance, 
L'Education  Sentiment  ale,  and  many 
others) . — The  Burled  Temple. 

344.  There  is  not  an  existence  about  us 
but  at  first  seems  colourless,  dreary,  lethar- 
gic: what  can  our  soul  have  in  common 
with  that  of  an  elderly  spinster,  a  slow- 
witted  ploughman,  a  miser  who  worships 
his  gold?  Can  any  connection  exist  be- 
tween such  as  these  and  a  deep-rooted  feel- 
ing, a  boundless  love  for  humanity,  an  in- 
terest time  cannot  stale?  But  let  a  Balzac 
step  forward  and  stand  in  the  midst  of 
them,  with  his  eyes  and  ears  on  the  watch; 
and  the  emotion  that  lived  and  died  in  an 
old-fashioned  country  parlour  shall  as 
243 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

mightily  stir  our  heart,  shall  as  unerringly 
find  its  way  to  the  deepest  sources  of  life,  as 
the  majestic  passion  that  ruled  the  life  of  a 
king  and  shed  its  triumphant  lustre  from 
the  dazzling  height  of  a  throne. — Wisdom 
and  Destiny. 


844 


XVII 
DRAMA 


XVII 
DRAMA 

I  ADMIRE  Othello,  but  he  does  not  ap- 
pear to  me  to  live  the  august  daily  life 
of  a  Hamlet,  who  has  the  time  to  live, 
inasmuch  as  he  does  not  act.  Othello  is 
admirably  jealous.  But  is  it  not  perhaps  an 
ancient  error  to  imagine  that  it  is  at  the 
moment  when  this  passion  or  another  of 
equal  violence  possesses  us,  that  we  live  our 
truest  lives?  I  have  grown  to  believe  that 
an  old  man,  seated  in  his  armchair,  waiting 
patiently,  with  his  lamp  beside  him;  giving 
unconscious  ear  to  all  the  eternal  laws  that 
reign  about  his  house,  interpreting,  with- 
out comprehending,  the  silence  of  doors  and 
windows  and  the  quivering  voice  of  the 
light,  submitting  with  bent  head  to  the 
presence  of  his  soul  and  his  destiny — an  old 
man,  who  conceives  not  that  all  the  powers 
247 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

of  this  world,  like  so  many  heedful  servants, 
are  mingling  and  keeping  vigil  in  his  room, 
who  suspects  not  that  the  very  sun  itself  is 
supporting  in  space  the  little  table  against 
which  he  leans,  or  that  every  star  in  heaven 
and  every  fibre  of  the  soul  are  directly  con- 
cerned in  the  movement  of  an  eyelid  that 
closes,  or  a  thought  that  springs  to  birth — 
I  have  grown  to  believe  that  he,  motionless 
as  he  is,  does  yet  live  in  reality  a  deeper, 
more  human  and  more  universal  life  than 
the  lover  who  strangles  his  mistress,  the 
captain  who  conquers  in  battle,  or  *  the 
husband  who  avenges  his  honour/ — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

346.  Is  it  not  at  the  very  moment  when 
a  man  believes  himself  secure  from  bodily 
death  that  the  strange  and  silent  tragedy  of 
the  being  and  the  immensities  does  indeed 
raise  its  curtain  on  the  stage  ?  Is  it  while  I 
flee  before  a  naked  sword  that  my  existence 

touches  its  most  interesting  point?    Is  life 

248 


Drama 

always  at  its  sublimest  in  a  kiss  ?  Are  there 
not  other  moments,  when  one  hears  purer 
voices  that  do  not  fade  away  as  soon? 
Does  the  soul  only  flower  on  nights  of 
storm  ?  Hitherto,  doubtless,  this  belief  has 
prevailed.  It  is  only  the  life  of  violence, 
the  life  of  bygone  days,  that  is  perceived  by 
nearly  all  our  tragic  writers ;  and  truly  may 
one  say  that  anachronism  dominates  the 
stage,  and  that  dramatic  art  dates  back  as 
many  years  as  the  art  of  sculpture.  Far 
different  is  it  with  the  other  arts — with 
painting  and  music,  for  instance — for  these 
have  learned  to  select  and  reproduce  those 
obscurer  phases  of  daily  life  that  are  not 
the  less  deep-rooted  and  amazing.  They 
know  that  all  that  life  has  lost,  as  regards 
mere  superficial  ornament,  has  been  more 
than  counterbalanced  by  the  depth,  the  inti- 
mate meaning  and  the  spiritual  gravity  it 
has  acquired.  The  true  artist  no  longer 
chooses  Marius  triumphing  over  the  Cim- 
249 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

brians>  or  the  assassination  of  the  Duke  of 
Guise,  as  fit  subjects  for  his  art;  for  he  is 
well  ajyare  that  the  psychology  of  victory 
or  murder  is  but  elementary  and  excep- 
tional, and  that  the  solemn  voice  of  men 
and  things,  the  voice  that  issues  forth  so 
timidly  and  hesitatingly,  cannot  be  heard 
amidst  the  idle  uproar  of  acts  of  violence. 
And  therefore  will  he  place  on  his  canvas 
a  house  lost  in  the  heart  of  the  country,  an 
open  door  at  the  end  of  a  passage,  a  face 
or  hands  at  rest,  and  by  these  simple  images 
will  he  add  to  our  consciousness  of  life, 
which  is  a  possession  that  it  is  no  longer 
possible  to  lose. 

But  to  the  tragic  author,  as  to  the  medi- 
ocre painter  who  still  lingers  over  historical 
pictures,  it  is  only  the  violence  of  the  anec- 
dote that  appeals,  and  in  his  representation 
thereof  does  the  entire  interest  of  the  work 
consist.  And  he  imagines,  forsooth,  that 
we  shall  delight  in  witnessing  the  very  same 
250 


Drama 

acts  that  brought  joy  to  the  hearts  of  the 
barbarians,  with  whom  murder,  outrage 
and  treachery  were  matters  of  daily  occur- 
rence. Whereas  it  is  far  away  from  blood- 
shed, battle-cry  and  sword-thrust  that  the 
lives  of  most  of  us  flow  on,  and  men's  tears 
are  silent  to-day,  and  invisible,  and  almost 
spiritual.  .  .  . — The  Treasure  of  the 
Humble. 

347.  It  is  not  in  the  actions,  but  in  the 
words,  that  are  found  the  beauty  and  great- 
ness of  tragedies  that  are  truly  beautiful 
and  great ;  and  this  not  solely  in  the  words 
that  accompany  and  explain  the  action,  for 
there  must  perforce  be  another  dialogue 
besides  the  one  which  is  superficially  neces- 
sary. And  indeed  the  only  words  that 
count  in  the  play  are  those  that  at  first 
seemed  useless,  for  it  is  therein  that  the 
essence  lies.  Side  by  side  with  the  neces- 
sary dialogue  will  you  almost  always  find 
another  dialogue  that  seems  superfluous; 
251 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

but  examine  it  carefully,  and  it  will  be 
borne  home  to  you  that  this  is  the  only  one 
that  the  soul  can  listen  to  profoundly,  for 
here  alone  is  it  the  soul  that  is  being  ad- 
dressed. You  will  see,  too,  that  it  is  the 
quality  and  scope  of  this  unnecessary  dia- 
logue that  determine  the  quality  and  the 
immeasurable  range  of  the  work. — The 
Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

348.  When  I  go  to  a  theatre,  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  spending  a  few  hours  with 
my  ancestors,  who  conceived  life  as  some- 
thing that  was  primitive,  arid  and  brutal; 
but  this  conception  of  theirs  scarcely  even 
lingers  in  my  memory,  and  surely  it  is  not 
one  that  I  can  share.  I  am  shown  a  de- 
ceived husband  killing  his  wife,  a  woman 
poisoning  her  lover,  a  son  avenging  his 
father,  a  father  slaughtering  his  children, 
children  putting  their  father  to  death,  mur- 
dered kings,  ravished  virgins,  imprisoned 
citizens — in  a  word,  all  the  sublimity  of 
252 


Drama 

tradition,  but  alas,  how  superficial  and  ma- 
terial! Blood,  surface-tears  and  death! 
What  can  I  learn  from  creatures  who  have 
but  one  fixed  idea,  and  who  have  no  time  to 
live,  for  that  there  is  a  rival,  or  a  mistress, 
whom  it  behoves  them  to  put  to  death  ? 

I  had  hoped  to  be  shown  some  act  of 
life,  traced  back  to  its  sources  and  to  its 
mystery  by  connecting  links,  that  my  daily 
occupations  afford  me  neither  power  nor 
occasion  to  study.  I  had  gone  thither  hop- 
ing that  the  beauty,  the  grandeur  and  the 
earnestness  of  my  humble  day  by  day  exist- 
ence would,  for  one  instant,  be  revealed  to 
me,  that  I  would  be  shown  I  know  not  what 
presence,  power  or  God  that  is  ever  with 
me  in  my  room.  I  was  yearning  for  one 
of  the  strange  moments  of  a  higher  life  that 
flit  unperceived  through  my  dearest  hours; 
whereas,  almost  invariably,  all  that  I  beheld 
was  but  a  man  who  would  tell  me,  at  weari- 
some length,  why  he  was  jealous,  why  he 
253 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

poisoned,  or  why  he  killed. — The  Treasure 
of  the  Humble. 

349.  '  What  is  it,'  I  asked,  '  what  is  it 
that,  in  the  "  Master  Builder,"  the  poet 
has  added  to  life,  thereby  making  it  appear 
so  strange,  so  profound  and  so  disquieting 
beneath  its  trivial  surface  ?  '  The  discovery 
is  not  easy,  and  the  old  master  hides  from 
us  more  than  one  secret.  It  would  even 
seem  as  though  what  he  has  wished  to  say 
were  but  little  by  the  side  of  what  he  has 
been  compelled  to  say.  He  has  freed  cer- 
tain powers  of  the  soul  that  have  never  yet 
been  free,  and  it  may  well  be  that  these 
have  held  him  in  thrall.  '  Look  you, 
Hilda,'  exclaims  Solness,  '  look  you  I 
There  is  sorcery  in  you  too  as  there  is  in 
me.  It  is  this  sorcery  that  imposes  action 
on  the  powers  of  the  beyond.  And  we 
have  to  yield  to  it.  Whether  we  want  to  or 
not,  we  must.' 

There  is  sorcery  in  them,  as  in  us  all. 

254 


Drama 

Hilda  and  Solness  are,  I  believe,  the  first 
characters  in  drama  who  feel,  for  an  in- 
stant, that  they  are  living  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  soul;  and  the  discovery  of  this  essen- 
tial life  that  exists  in  them,  beyond  the  life 
of  every  day,  comes  fraught  with  terror. 
Hilda  and  Solness  are  two  souls  to  whom  a 
flash  has  revealed  their  situation  in  the  true 
life. — The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

350.  At  the  time  of  the  great  tragic 
writers  of  the  new  era,  at  the  time  of 
Shakespeare,  Racine  and  their  successors, 
the  belief  prevailed  that  all  misfortunes 
came  from  the  various  passions  of  the  heart. 
Catastrophes  did  not  hover  between  two 
worlds;  they  came  hence  to  go  thither,  and 
their  point  of  departure  was  known.  Man 
was  always  the  master.  Much  less  was 
this  the  case  at  the  time  of  the  Greeks,  for 
then  fatality  reigned  on  the  heights;  but 
it  was  inaccessible,  and  none  dared  inter- 
rogate it.  To-day  it  is  fatality  that  we  chal- 
255 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

lenge,  and  this  is  perhaps  the  distinguishing 
note  of  the  new  theatre.  It  is  no  longer  the 
effects  of  disaster  that  arrest  our  attention; 
it  is  disaster  itself,  and  we  are  eager  to 
know  its  essence  and  its  laws.  It  was  the 
nature  of  disaster  with  which  the  earliest 
tragic  writers  were,  all  unconsciously,  pre- 
occupied, and  this  it  was  that,  though  they 
knew  it  not,  threw  a  solemn  shadow  round 
the  hard  and  violent  gestures  of  external 
death;  and  it  is  this,  too,  that  has  become 
the  rallying-point  of  the  most  recent 
dramas,  the  centre  of  light,  with  strange 
flames  gleaming,  about  which  revolve 
the  souls  of  women  and  of  men.  And  a 
step  has  been  taken  towards  the  mystery  so 
that  life's  terrors  may  be  looked  in  the  face. 
— The  Treasure  of  the  Humble. 

351.  Though  Racine  may  indeed  be  the 

unerring  poet  of  the  woman's  heart,  who 

would  dare  to  claim  for  him  that  he  has 

ever   taken   one   step   towards   her   soul? 

256 


Drama 

What  can  you  tell  me  of  the  soul  of  Andro- 
mache, of  Britannicus?  Racine's  char- 
acters have  no  knowledge  of  themselves 
beyond  the  words  by  which  they  express 
themselves,  and  not  one  of  these  words  can 
pierce  the  dykes  that  keep  back  the  sea. 
His  men  and  women  are  alone,  fearfully 
alone,  on  the  surface  of  a  planet  that  no 
longer  revolves  in  the  heavens.  If  they 
were  to  be  silent,  they  would  cease  to  be. 
They  have  no  invisible  principle,  and  one 
might  almost  believe  that  some  isolating 
substance  had  crept  between  their  spirit  and 
themselves,  between  the  life  which  has  its 
roots  in  every  created  thing  and  that  which, 
for  one  fleeting  moment,  brushes  against  a 
passion,  a  grief  or  a  hope.  Truly  there 
are  centuries  in  which  the  soul  lies  dormant 
and  slumbers  undisturbed. — The  Treasure 
if  the  Humble. 

352.  We  are  told  that  the  famous  trag- 
edies show  us  the  struggle  of  man  against 
257 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

Fate.  I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that 
scarcely  a  drama  exists  wherein  fatality 
truly  does  reign.  Search  as  I  may,  I 
cannot  find  one  which  exhibits  the  hero  in 
conflict  with  destiny  pure  and  simple.  For 
indeed  it  is  never  destiny  that  he  attacks; 
it  is  with  wisdom  he  is  always  at  war.  ,Real 
fatality  exists  only  in  certain  external  dis- 
asters— as  disease,  accident,  the  sudden 
death  of  those  we  love;  but  inner  fatality 
there  is  none.  Wisdom  has  will-power  suf- 
ficient to  rectify  all  that  does  not  deal  death 
to  the  body ;  it  will  even  at  times  invade  the 
narrow  domain  of  external  fatality. — Wis- 
dom and  Destiny. 

353.  The  Margaret  of  Goethe  and 
Ophelia  of  Shakespeare  had  perforce  to 
yield  mutely  to  fate,  for  they  were  so  feeble 
that  each  gesture  they  witnessed  seemed 
fate's  own  gesture  to  them.  But  yet,  had 
they  only  possessed  some  fragment  of 
Antigone's  strength — the  Antigone  of 
258 


Drama 

Sophocles — would  they  not  then  have 
transformed  the  desires  of  Hamlet  and 
Faust  as  well  as  their  own? — Wisdom  and 
Destiny. 

354.  The  heroes  of  famous  tragedies  do 
not  question  their  souls  profoundly;  and  it 
follows  therefrom  that  the  beauty  the 
tragic  poet  presents  is  only  a  captive  thing, 
is  fettered  with  chains ;  for  were  his  heroes 
to  soar  to  the  height  the  real  hero  would 
gain,  their  weapons  would  fall  to  the 
ground,  and  the  drama  itself  become  peace 
— the  peace  of  enlightenment.  It  is  only 
in  the  Passion  of  Christ,  the  Phaedo,  Prome- 
theus, the  murder  of  Orpheus,  the  sacrifice 
of  Antigone — it  is  only  in  these  that  we 
find  the  drama  of  the  sage,  the  solitary 
drama  of  wisdom.  But  elsewhere  it  is 
rarely  indeed  that  tragic  poets  will  allow 
a  sage  to  appear  on  the  scene,  though  it  be 
for  an  instant.  They  are  afraid  of  a  lofty 
soul;  for  they  know  that  events  are  no  less 
259 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

afraid,  and  that  a  murder  committed  in  the 
presence  of  the  sage  seems  quite  other  than 
the  murder  committed  in  the  presence  of 
those  whose  soul  still  knows  not  itself. — 
Wisdom  and  Destiny. 

355.  Can  you  conceive  Jesus  Christ — 
nay,  any  wise  man  you  have  happened  to 
meet — in  the  midst  of  the  unnatural  gloom 
that   overhung    Elsinore?      Is   not   every 
action  of  Hamlet  induced  by  a  fanatical 
impulse,   which  tells  him  that  duty  con- 
sists in  revenge  alone?  and  does  it  need 
superhuman   effort   to   recognise   that   re- 
venge never  can  be  a  duty?     I  say  again 
that    Hamlet  thinks    much,    but    that    he 
is  by  no  means  wise. — Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny. 

356.  It  is  in  a  small  room,  round  a  table, 
close  to  the  fire-side,  that  the  joys  and  sor- 
rows of  men  arc  determined.    We  suffer,  or 
bring  suffering  to  others,  we  love  and  we 
die,  there,  in  our  corner,  wherever  we  hap- 

260 


Drama 

pen  to  be;  and  it  were  by  most  singular 
chance  that  a  window  or  door  would  for 
one  instant  fly  open  under  the  pressure  of 
extraordinary  despair  or  rejoicing. — '  The 
Modern  Drama,'  Essay  published  in  the 
International  Library  of  World  Famous 
Literature. 

357.  Modern  drama  has  flung  itself 
with  delight  into  all  the  problems  of  con- 
temporary morality,  and  it  is  fair  to  assert 
that  at  this  moment  it  confines  itself  almost 
exclusively  to  the  discussion  of  these  differ- 
ent problems.  This  movement  was  ini- 
tiated by  the  dramas  of  Alexandre  Dumas 
fils,  dramas  which  brought  the  most  ele- 
mentary of  moral  conflicts  on  to  the  stage; 
dramas,  indeed,  whose  entire  existence  was 
based  on  problems  such  as  the  spectator, 
who  must  always  be  assumed  to  be  an  ideal 
moralist,  would  never  put  to  himself  in  the 
course  of  his  whole  spiritual  existence,  so 
evident  is  their  solution.  Should  the  faith- 
261 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

less  husband  or  wife  be  forgiven?  Is  it 
well  to  revenge  infidelity  by  infidelity  ?  Has 
the  illegitimate  child  any  rights?  Is  the 
marriage  of  inclination  preferable  to  the 
marrige  for  money?  Have  parents  the 
right  to  oppose  a  marriage  which  has  love 
for  its  basis?  Is  divorce  permissible  when 
a  child  is  born  of  the  union?  Is  the  sin  of 
the  adulterous  wife  greater  than  that  of  the 
adulterous  husband?  &c.  &c.  &c.  And  it 
may  here  be  said  that  the  entire  French 
theatre  of  to-day,  and  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  foreign  theatre,  which  is  only 
its  echo,  exists  solely  on  questions  of  this 
kind  and  the  entirely  superfluous  answers 
provided  to  them. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  the  loftiest  point 
of  human  consciousness  is  reached  by  the 
dramas  of  Bjornson,  of  Hauptmann,  and, 
above  all,  by  the  dramas  of  Ibsen.  Here 
we  attain  the  limit  of  the  resources  of  mod- 
ern dramaturgy.  For,  in  truth,  the  further 
262 


Drama 

we  go  into  the  consciousness  of  man,  the 
less  struggle  do  we  find. — Ibid. 

358.  Accidental,  adventitious  beauty  ex- 
ists no  longer;  nor  is  there  poetry  now  in 
externals.     And  what  poetry  is  there — if 
we  choose  to  probe  into  the  heart  of  things 
— but  borrows  nearly  all  its  charm,  nearly 
all  of  its  ecstasy,  from  external  elements? 
And  finally,  there  is  no  longer  a  god  to 
widen  the  sphere  of  the  action,  or  master  it; 
nor  is  there  an  inexorable  fate  to  form  a 
mysterious,     solemn,     and    tragical    back- 
ground for  the  slightest  gesture  of  man, 
and  enwrap  it  with  a  sombre,  fecund  atmos- 
phere, capable  of  ennobling  even  his  most 
contemptible  weaknesses,  his  least  excusable 
crimes. — Ibid. 

359.  It  is  legitimate  and  easy  for  the 
thinker,   the   moralist,   historian,   novelist, 
even  for  the  lyric  poet,  to  open  up  new 
ground  in  the  consciousness  of  man;  but 
at  no  price  whatever  may  the  dramatic  poet 

263 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

be  an  inactive  observer  or  philosopher.  Do 
what  we  will,  and  whatever  the  marvels  we 
may  some  day  imagine,  it  is  always  action 
that  will  be  the  sovereign  law,  the  essential 
demand  of  the  theatre.  It  would  seem  as 
though  the  rise  of  the  curtain  brought  about 
a  sudden  transformation  in  the  lofty  intel- 
lectual thought  we  bring  with  us ;  as  though 
the  thinker,  psychologist,  mystic,  or  moral- 
ist in  us  makes  way  for  the  mere  instinctive 
spectator  who  wants  to  see  something  hap- 
pen. This  transformation  or  substitution 
is  incontestable,  however  strange  it  may 
seem,  and  is  due  perhaps  to  the  influence  of 
the  crowd,  to  an  inherent  faculty  of  the 
human  soul,  that  appears  to  possess  a  spe- 
cial sense,  primitive  and  scarcely  susceptible 
of  improvement,  by  virtue  of  which  men 
think,  and  enjoy,  and  feel  en  masse.  And 
there  are  no  words  so  admirable,  profound, 
and  noble  but  they  will  soon  weary  us  if 

they  leave  the  situation  unchanged,  if  they 
264 


Drama 

lead  to  no  action,  bring  about  no  decisive 
conflict,  or  hasten  no  definite  solution. — 
The  Modern  Drama. . 

360.  In  Siegfried's  life  it  is  not  the  mo- 
ment when  he  forges  the  prodigious  sword 
that  is  important,   or  when  he  kills  the 
dragon  and  compels  the  gods  from  his  path, 
or  even  the  dazzling  second  when  he  en- 
counters love  on  the  flaming  mountain ;  but 
indeed    the    brief    instant    wrested    from 
eternal  decrees,  the  little  childish  gesture 
when  one  of  his  hands,  red  with  the  blood 
of  the  mysterious  victim,  having  chanced  to 
draw  near  his  lips,  his  eyes  and  ears  are 
suddenly  opened:  he  understands  the  hid- 
den language  of  all  that  surrounds  him,  de- 
tects the  treachery  of  the  dwarf  who  repre- 
sents the  powers  of  evil,  and  learns  in  a 
flash  to  do  that  which  had  to  be  done. — 
The  Buried  Temple. 

361.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  spec- 
tator, however  feeble,   dishonest  even  he 

265 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

may  be  in  real  life,  still  enrols  himself 
always  among  the  virtuous,  just,  and 
strong;  and  when  he  reflects  on  the  misfor- 
tunes of  the  weak,  or  even  witnesses  them, 
he  resolutely  declines  to  imagine  himself  in 
the  place  of  the  victims. — The  Buried 
Temple. 

362.  Fatality,  briefly,  explains  and  ex- 
cuses all  things,  by  relegating  to  a  suf- 
ficient distance  in  the  invisible  or  the  unin- 
telligible all  that  it  would  be  hard  to 
explain  and  more  difficult  still  to  excuse. 

Therefore  it  is  that  so  many  have  turned 
to  the  dismembered  statue  of  the  terrible 
goddess  who  reigned  in  the  dramas  of 
Euripides,  Sophocles,  and  Aeschylus,  and 
that  the  scattered  fragments  of  her  limbs 
have  provided  more  than  one  poet  with 
the  marble  required  for  the  fashioning  of 
a  newer  divinity,  who  should  be  more  hu- 
man, less  arbitrary,  and  less  inconceivable 
than  she  of  old.  The  fatality  of  the  pas- 
266 


Drama 

sions,  for  instance,  has  thus  been  evolved. 
But  for  a  passion  truly  to  be  fatal  in  a  soul 
aware  of  itself,  for  the  mystery  to  reappear 
that  shall  make  crime  pardonable  by  in- 
vesting it  with  loftiness  and  lifting  it  higher 
above  the  will  of  man, — for  these  we  re- 
quire the  intervention  of  a  God,  or  some 
other  equally  irresistible,  infinite  force. 
Wagner,  therefore,  in  Tristram  and  Iseult, 
makes  use  of  the  philtre,  as  Shakespeare  of 
the  witches  in  Macbeth,  Racine  of  the 
oracle  of  Calchas  in  Iphigenia,  and  of 
Venus'  hatred  in  Phtdre.  We  have  trav- 
elled in  a  circle,  and  find  ourselves  back  once 
more  at  the  very  heart  of  the  craving  of 
former  days.  This  expedient  may  be  more 
or  less  legitimate  in  archaic  or  legendary 
drama,  where  there  is  room  for  all  kinds  of 
poetic  fantasy ;  but  in  the  drama  which  pre- 
tends to  actual  truth  we  demand  another 
intervention,  one  that  shall  seem  to  us  more 
genuinely  irresistible,  if  crimes  like  Mac- 
267 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

beth's,  such  a  deed  of  horror  as  that  to 
which  Agamemnon  consented ; — perhaps, 
too,  the  kind  of  love  that  burned  in  Phedre 
— shall  achieve  their  mysterious  excuse,  and 
acquire  a  grandeur  and  sombre  nobility  that 
intrinsically  they  do  not  possess.  Take 
away  from  Macbeth  the  fatal  predestina- 
tion, the  intervention  of  Hell,  the  heroic 
struggle  with  an  occult  justice  that  for  ever 
is  revealing  itself  through  a  thousand  fis- 
sures of  revolting  nature,  and  Macbeth  is 
merely  a  frantic  contemptible  murderer. 
Take  away  the  oracle  of  Calchas,  and  Aga- 
memnon becomes  abominable.  Take  away 
che  hatred  of  Venus,  and  what  is  Phedre 
but  a  neurotic  creature,  whose  '  moral  qual- 
ity '  and  power  of  resistance  to  evil  are  too 
pronouncedly  feeble  for  our  intellect  to 
take  any  genuine  interest  in  the  calamity 
that  befalls  her? 

Truly,   these  supernatural  interventions 
to-day  satisfy  neither  spectator  nor  reader. 

368 


Drama 

Though  he  know  it  not,  perhaps,  and  strive 
as  he  may,  it  is  no  longer  possible  for  him 
to  regard  them  seriously  in  the  depth  of  his 
consciousness.  His  conception  of  the  uni- 
verse is  other.  He  no  longer  detects  the 
working  of  a  narrow,  determined,  obsti- 
nate, violent  will  in  the  multitude  of  forces 
that  strive  in  him  and  about  him.  He 
knows  that  the  criminal  whom  he  may  meet 
in  actual  life  has  been  urged  into  crime  by 
misfortune,  education,  atavism,  or  by  move- 
ments of  passion  which  he  has  himself  ex- 
perienced and  subdued,  while  recognising 
that  there  might  have  been  circumstances 
under  which  their  repression  would  have 
been  a  matter  of  exceeding  difficulty.  He 
will  not,  it  is  true,  always  be  able  to  discover 
the  cause  of  these  misfortunes,  or  of  these 
movements  of  passion;  and  his  endeavour 
to  account  for  the  injustice  of  education  or 
heredity  will  probably  be  no  less  unsuccess- 
ful. But  for  all  that  he  will  no  longer  in- 
269 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

cline  to  attribute  a  particular  crime  to  the 
wrath  of  a  God,  the  direct  intervention  of 
Hell,  or  to  a  series  of  changeless  decrees 
inscribed  in  the  book  of  fate.  Why  ask  of 
him,  then,  to  accept  in  a  poem  an  explana- 
tion which  he  refuses  in  life?  Is  the  poet's 
duty  not  rather  to  furnish  an  explanation 
loftier,  clearer,  more  widely  and  profound- 
ly human  than  any  his  reader  can  find  for 
himself?  For,  indeed,  this  wrath  of  the 
gods,  intervention  of  Hell,  and  writing  in 
letters  of  fire,  are  to  him  no  more  to-day 
than  so  many  symbols  that  have  long  ceased 
to  content  him.  It  is  time  that  the  poet 
should  realise  that  the  symbol  is  legitimate 
only  when  it  stands  for  accepted  truth,  or 
for  truth  which  as  yet  we  cannot  or  will  not 
accept;  but  the  symbol  is  out  of  place  at  a 
time  when  it  is  truth  itself  that  we  seek. 
And  besides,  to  merit  admission  into  a 
really  living  poem,  the  symbol  should  be  at 
least  as  great  and  beautiful  as  the  truth  for 
270 


Drama 

which  it  stands,  and  should,  moreover,  pre- 
cede this  truth,  and  not  follow  a  long  way 
behind. — The  Buried  Temple. 

363.  It  is  not  easy,  I  know,  to  free  one- 
self wholly  from  traditional  interpretation, 
for  it  often  succeeds  in  reasserting  its  sway 
upon  us  at  the  very  moment  we  strain  every 
nerve  to  escape  from  our  bondage.  So  has 
it  happened  with  Ibsen,  who,  in  his  search 
for  a  new  and  almost  scientific  form  of 
fatality,  erected  the  veiled,  majestic,  tyran- 
nical figure  of  heredity  in  the  centre  of  the 
very  best  of  his  dramas.  But  it  is  not  the 
scientific  mystery  of  heredity  which  awakens 
within  us  those  human  fears  that  lie  so 
much  deeper  than  the  mere  animal  fear ;  for 
heredity  alone  could  no  more  achieve  this 
result  than  could  the  scientific  mystery  of  a 
dreaded  disease,  a  stellar  or  marine  phe- 
nomenon. No,  the  fear  that  differs  so 
essentially  from  the  one  called  forth  by  an 
imminent  natural  danger,  is  aroused  within 
271 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

us  by  the  obscure  idea  of  justice  which 
heredity  assumes  in  the  drama ;  by  the  dar- 
ing pronouncement  that  the  sins  of  the 
fathers  are  almost  invariably  visited  on  the 
children ;  by  the  suggestion  that  a  sovereign 
Judge,  a  goddess  of  the  species,  is  for  ever 
watching  our  actions,  inscribing  them  on 
her  tablets  of  bronze,  and  balancing  in 
her  eternal  hands  rewards  long  deferred 
and  never-ending  punishment.  In  a  word, 
even  while  we  deny  it,  it  is  the  face  of  God 
that  reappears,  and  from  beneath  the  flag- 
stone one  had  believed  to  be  sealed  for  ever 
comes  once  again  the  murmur  of  the  very 
ancient  flame  of  Hell. — The  Buried 
Temple. 

364.  I  was  compelled,  a  few  days  ago, 
to  glance  over  two  or  three  little  dramas 
of  mine,  wherein  lies  revealed  the  disquiet 
of  a  mind  that  has  given  itself  wholly  to 
mystery — a  disquiet  legitimate  enough  in 
itself,  perhaps,  but  not  so  inevitable  as  to 
272 


Drama 

warrant  its  own  complacency.  The  key- 
note of  these  little  plays  is  dread  of  the  un- 
known that  surrounds  us.  I,  or  rather  some 
obscure  poetical  feeling  within  me  (for  with 
the  sincerest  of  poets  a  division  must  often 
be  made  between  the  instinctive  feeling  of 
their  art  and  the  thoughts  of  their  real 
life),  seemed  to  believe  in  a  species  of 
monstrous,  invisible,  fatal  power  that  gave 
heed  to  our  every  action,  and  was  hostile  to 
our  smile,  to  our  life,  to  our  peace  and  love. 
Its  intentions  could  not  be  divined,  but  the 
spirit  of  the  drama  assumed  them  to  be 
malevolent  always.  In  its  essence,  perhaps, 
this  power  was  just,  but  only  in  anger;  and 
it  exercised  justice  in  a  manner  so  crooked, 
so  secret,  so  sluggish  and  remote,  that  its 
punishments — for  it  never  rewarded — took 
the  semblance  of  inexplicable,  arbitrary  acts 
of  fate.  We  had  there,  in  a  word,  more  or 
less  the  idea  of  the  God  of  the  Christians, 
blent  with  that  of  ancient  fatality,  lurking 

873 


Thoughts  from  Maeterlinck 

in  nature's  impenetrable  twilight,  whence  it 
eagerly  watched,  contested  and  saddened 
the  projects,  the  feelings,  the  thoughts,  and 
the  happiness  of  man. 

This  unknown  would  most  frequently 
appear  in  the  shape  of  death.  The  pres- 
ence of  death — infinite,  menacing,  for  ever 
treacherously  active — filled  every  interstice 
of  the  poem.  The  problem  of  existence  was 
answered  only  by  the  enigma  of  annihila- 
tion. And  it  was  a  callous,  inexorable 
death;  blind,  and  groping  its  mysterious 
way  with  only  chance  to  guide  it;  laying  its 
hands  preferentially  on  the  youngest  and 
the  least  unhappy,  since  these  held  them- 
selves less  motionless  than  others,  and  that 
every  too  sudden  movement  in  the  night 
arrested  its  attention.  And  around  it  were 
only  poor  little  trembling,  elementary  crea- 
tures, who  shivered  for  an  instant  and 
wept,  on  the  brink  of  a  gulf;  and  their 
words  and  their  tears  had  importance  only 
274 


Drama 

from  the  fact  that  each  word  they  spoke 
and  each  tear  they  shed  fell  into  this  gulf, 
and  were  at  times  so  strangely  resonant 
there  as  to  lead  one  to  think  that  the  gulf 
must  be  vast  if  a  tear  or  a  word,  as  it  fell, 
could  send  forth  so  confused  and  muffled  a 
sound. — The  Buried  Temple. 

365.  Dramas  which  deal  with  uncon- 
scious creatures,  whom  their  own  feebleness 
oppresses  and  their  own  desires  overcome, 
excite  our  interest  and  arouse  our  pity;  but 
the  veritable  drama,  the  one  which  probes 
to  the  heart  of  things  and  grapples  with 
important  truths,  —  our  own  personal 
drama,  in  a  word,  which  forever  hangs 
over  our  life, — is  the  one  wherein  the 
strong,  intelligent,  and  conscious  commit 
errors,  faults,  and  crimes  which  are  almost 
inevitable;  wherein  the  wise  and  upright 
struggle  with  all-powerful  calamity,  with 
forces  destructive  to  wisdom  and  virtue.— 
The  Buried  Temple. 


INDEX 


The  figures  in  thit  index  refer  to  the  numbered  paragraphs. 

ACT,  an,  of  goodness,  an  act  of  happiness,  140 

Act,  to,  to  think  more  quickly  than  thought,  37 

Action,  our,  in  this  life  should  be  as  if  continually  watched  by  the 

God  our  heart  desires,  62 
Angels,  the,  that  dry  our  eyes,  42 
Antigone,  the,  of  Sophocles,  353 
Antoninus  Pius,  the  watchword  of,  52 
Apiary  in  Dutch  Flanders,  315 
Artist,  the  true,  no  longer  tries  to  portray  scenes  of  violence,  346 

BALZAC,  344 

Barres,  37 

Beauty,  235,  237,  240 

Beauty,  a  trivial  thing,  but  we  would  rather  lose  everything  than 

our  sense  of,  115 

Beauty  in  obscure  lives  about  us,  242 
Beauty,  moral,  234,  241 

Beauty,  spiritual,  no  man  without  a  retreat  in,  236 
Bee,  no,  dare  take  on  itself  direct  regicide,  333 
Bee,  the  creature  of  a  crowd,  319 

Bees,  318,  320,  323,  324,  330,  331,  332,  333,  334,  335,  336,  337,  338 
Bees,  intelligence  of,  328 
Bees,  soul  of  the  summer,  317 
Bees,  the  mystical  flight,  334,  335,  336 
Bees,  we  imagine  we  understand  them,  327 
Bees,  the  brood  cells,  324 
Bees,  the  swarming,  325,  326 
Bees,  the  young  queen,  331 
Bees,  the  massacre  of  the  males,  337 
Bees,  in  their  uniform  tombs  like  "hoary  gnomes,  316 
Belief,  if  a,  we  cling  to  forsakes  us,  72 
Belief  and  unbelief  empty  words ;  not  so  the  loyalty  and  reasons 

wherefore  we  believe,  64 

Benefit,  easier  to  confer  occasional  than  never  to  do  harm,  150 
Birth,  our  veritable,  3 
BjSrnson, 357 

Books  have  not  the  importance  writers  claim  for  them,  52 
Bront8,  Emily,  339,  340 
Bruges,  device  on  old  house  at,  74 

CARLYLE,  59 

Catastrophe,  a,  belong  most  to  ourselves  after,  7 

277 


Index 

Character,  112 

Charity,  more  in  egoism  of  far-seeing  soul  than  in  devotion  of  a 

blind  one,  133 

Charity,  Sister  of,  may  have  mean  soul,  229 
Conduct,  for  our,  to  be  good  our  thoughts  must  be  ten  times  loftier, 

144 

Consciousness,  53,  73,  78,  206,  270 

Consciousness,  its  craving  for  growth  a  moral  uplifting,  132 
Contempt,  the  only  thing  contemptible,  213 
Courage,  a,  of  happiness  as  well  as  of  sorrow,  85 
Cruelty,  a  strange  tender,  often  in  love,  245 

DANTE,  253 

Dawn,  the,  28 

Dead,  if  the,  were  to  return  to  earth,  298 

Death,  75 

Deed,  every,  presupposes  an  army  of  ideas,  48 

Destiny,  179,  180,  181,  182,  183,  184,  187,  188,  189,  190,  191,  192,  193 

Destiny,  from  non-morality  of,  a  nobler  morality  springs,  126 

Destiny,  human,  crimes  of  body  shifted  to  crimes  against,  128 

Disdain,  217 

Disillusions  should  be  regarded  as  good  counsellors,  26 

Dogs,  draught,  in  Belgium,  193 

Doubts,  32 

Don  Juan,  269 

Drama,  184 

Drama,  the,  of  the  sage,  354 

Drama,  our  own  personal,  365 

Drama,  fatality  in,  184,  350,  352 

Drama,  loftiest  point  reached  by  modern,  357 

Drama,  no  longer  has  a  tragical  background,  358 

Drama,  second  dialogue  in,  347 

Drama,  necessity  for  action  in,  359 

Drama,  criticism  of  author's  own,  364 

Drama,  modern,  357 

Drama,  spectator  of,  361 

Dreams,  the,  of  the  week,  31 

Dumas,  tils,  357 

Duty,  219,  220,  221,  226,  228 

Duty,  neglect  of  immediate,  145 

Duty,  laws  of,  should  not  be  sought  in  naively  perfect  hear**  130 

Duty  done  through  hope  of  recompense. 

ECONOMY  of  no  avail  in  region  of  the  heart,  43 
Envy,  265 

Event,  germ  of  great  inner,  in  smallest  occurrence,  56 
Event,  the,  has  no  color  of  its  own,  54 
Events,  many  external  which  cannot  be  turned  to  moral,  36 
Evil,  if  in  your  case  nowadays  be  detected  by  a  child,  14 
Existence,  moral,  our,  destroyed  by  remaining  constant  to  a  truth 
we  no  longer  believe,  135 

FATALITY,  185,  186 

Fate,  to  admit  justice  of,  is  to  widen  morality,  124 

Fault,  a,  you  have  looked  in  the  face  no  longer  harmful,  21 

278 


Index 

Fiction,  modern,  343 

Flaubert,  343 

Food,  its  influence  on  moral  existence,  137 

Fountain,  the  thoughts  of  men  compared  to  a,  ai8 

Freedom,  hours  of,  determine  moral  worth  of  a  nation,  138 

Friends,  their  relationship  to  the  unknown,  3 

Friendship,  214 


Future,  the,  302,  303,  304 
Future,  the,  is  the  God  c 


of  the  bees,  311,  320 

GOD  must  be  at  least  as  high  as  the  highest  thoughts  implanted  in 

men,  146 

God,  suddenly  revealed  to  an  old  man,  5 
God,  a,  our  dread  of  the  presence  of,  67 
Good,  those  who  do,  expecting  no  recompense,  143 
Good,  often  conceived  by  one  who  neglects  immediate  duty,  145 
Good  done  for  sake  of  good,  146 
Goodness,  to  be  in  light  what  all  are  in  darkness,  191 
Goodness,  an  act  of,  an  act  of  happiness,  140 
Greek  tragic  writers,  350 

HAMLET,  345,  353,  355 

Happiness,  79,  80,  81,  82,  83,  85,  86,  87,  88,  90,  91,  94,  93,  94,  95, 96,  97, 

98,  99,  100,  101,  103,  103,  104,  io<>,  106 

Happiness,  the,  piven  to  each  what  he  can  best  understand,  313 
Happiness,  the,  injurious  to  others,  312 
Happiness,  the  happiest  man  he  within  whom  the  greatest  idea 

shall  burn  most  ardently,  84 
Happiness,  if  the,  of  your  brother  sadden  you  you  will  soon  find 

something  in  yourself  that  will  not  be  saddened,  89 
Hauptmann,  357 
Hero,  the,  learns  his  strength  when  his  head  pillowed  on  a  woman's 

breast,  278 
Heroism,  55,  131 
Hindu  proverb,  174 
Hive,  the  contemplation  of,  322,  330 
Honey  of  April  and  of  May,  324 
Honeycomb,  masterpiece  of  the  hive,  329 
Hopefulness  in  man,  71 
Humanity  rose  three  times  in  succession  when  Christ  met  the 

Samaritan,  met  a  few  children,  55 

IBSEN,  349,  357,  363 

Idea,  smallest  consoling,  has  strength  not  to  be  found  in  sorrow,  18 
Ideals,  two  or  three,  out  of  our  reach  enough  to  paralyse  life,  33 
Ideals,  well  to  cherish,  until  confronted  with  reality,  51 
Ideas,  our  clear,  should  not  govern  our  life,  ai6 
Infinite,  the,  our  communication  with,  3 
Infinite,  the,  our  desire  for,  23 
Injustice,  in,  116,  121,  122 

Injustice  of  man  attributed  to  *  Justice  of  the  Universe,'  114 
Injustice  of  Nature  becomes  justice  of  the  race,  116 
Injustice,  man  has  always  tried  to  justify  his,  117 
Intellect,  man  uses  his,  more  to  gain  self-knowledge  than  woman, 
263 

279 


Index 


TBSUS  CHRIST,  304,  314,  355 

Jesus  Christ,  when,  met  the  Samaritan,  55 

Joys  and  sorrows,  man's,  determined  round  a  table,  close  to  *  fire- 
side, 356 

oys,  we  grow  wise  by  consciously  renouncing  those  beneath  us,  195 
udas,  49 

ustice,  107,  108,  109,  113,  114,  115,  116,  130 
ustice,  its  presence  in  soul  of  sinner,  108 
ustice,  intrusion  of  our  sense  of,  into  universe,  109 
ustice  and  injustice,  sense  of,  varying  in  different  people,  na 
ustice,  indifference  with  which  Nature  regards,  118 
ustice,  our  necessity  for,  119 

KEY,  a,  nothing  more  beautiful  than,  24 

Kiss,  the  first,  of  betrothed,  the  seal  that  thousands  of  hands  craving 
Jor  birth,  277 

LAW,  a  moral,  disappearance  of,  no  cause  for  disquiet,  125 

Life,  changing  conditions  of,  12 

Life,  greatness  of,  revealed  in  humble  things,  4 

Life,  a  period  of,  when  our  love  for  truth  is  paramount,  69 

Life,  inner,  the  surest  erected  by  consciousness  of  purity  of  soul,  58 

Life,  by  looking  largely  upon  its  sadness  we  learn  to  soar  above 

it,  35 

Life,  particular  form  of,  we  represent  on  this  planet,  127 
Life,  choice  of  moral,  131 
Life,  every  day,  144 
Light,  man  created  to  work  in,  19 
Light,  the  same  falls  on  passion  and  on  intellect,  70 
Lighthouse,  parable  of,  232 
Losses,  of  no  avail  to  bemoan  our,  40 
Love,  39,  169,  170,  201,  244,  245,  246,  247,  248,  249,  250,  251,  252,  353, 

254i  255i  256,  257i  258,  259,  260,  261,  362,  263,  265,  266,  267,  268, 

277,  279 

Love,  tender  cruelty  of,  245 
Love,  wisdom  and,  198 
Love,  all  men  can  reverence,  255 
Lover,  the,  who  fears  shipwreck  in  love,  213 

MACBETH,  311,  362 

Marcus  Aurelius,  60,  134,  230 

Mars,  if  an  inhabitant  of,  were  to  contemplate  our  world,  saa 

'  Master  Builder,  The,'  349 

Men,  old,  should  sometimes  touch  the  cheek  of  a  child,  281 

Mischief  of  remaining  constant  to  an  uncertain  truth,  135 

Misery,  disease  of  mankind,  41 

Misfortune,  many  ways  of  accepting,  60 

Misfortune,  the  kisses  of  the  silence  of;  168 

Moral  uplifting,  its  yearning  for  consciousness,  132 

Moral  value,  man's,  depends  upon  the  duties  he  recognizes,  129 


Morality,  HI,  123,  124,  125,  128,  131,  135,  138,  143 
Morality,  our,  proportionate  to  our  destiny,  136 
"    sf,  in 
it  nig 

280 


Morality,  three  different  kinds  of,  in  men,  100 
Mountain,  a,  as  you  climb  up,  at  nightfall,  133 


Index 

Mystery,  the  study  of,  noblest  to  which  mind  of  man  can  devota 

itself,  75 

Mystery,  a,  rarely  disappears,  66 
Mystery,  the,  which  precedes  what  one  does  not  know,  and  th« 

mystery  which  follows  what  one  has  learned,  77 
Mystics,  the,  275 

NAPOLEON,  122 

Napoleon  at  Erfurt,  184 

Napoleon,  three  crowning  acts  of  injustice  of,  122 

Nature,  68,  113 

Nature,  our  ignorance  of,  113 

Nature,  sadness  of,  330 

Nature,  injustice  of,  136 

Nuptial  flight,  the,  334,  335,  336 

OTHELLO,  345 

Ourselves,  nothing  befalls  us  that  is  not  of  the  nature  of,  49 

PAST,  our,  285,  286,  287,  288,  290,  291,  292,  294,  295, 296,  297,  298,  299 

Past,  the,  only  asserts  itself  when  our  moral  growth  has  ceased,  293 

Past,  choice  of  another's,  297 

Past,  let  us  envy  no  man's,  296 

Past,  no,  can  be  mean  or  squalid,  292 

Peasant,  soul  of,  possesses  something  not  revealed  to  Shakespeare, 

»3 

Poem,  a,  draws  nearer  to  beauty  the  more  it  reveals  the  soul,  343 
Poor,  the,  we  do  not  blame,  30 
Prayer,  243 

Present,  better  a  living,  than  a  marvellous  past,  290 
Privileges,  none  we  enjoy  but  from  abuse  of  power,  in 

RACINE'S  characters  no  knowledge  of  themselves,  351 

Ray,  a,  of  light,  be  sure  that  the  day  you  lingered  to  follow,  53 

Reactions,  moral,  produced  by  past  events,  295 

Reason  and  love,  199,  201 

Reason  and  wisdom,  203,  209 

Reason,  moral  life  not  to  be  found  in,  207 

Renan,  Ernest,  59 

Renunciation,  215 

SACRIFICE,  220,  222,  223,  224,  225,  227,  229,  230,  231,  333 

Sadness,  35 

Sadness,  whatever  is  no  more  makes  for,  284 

Sage,  the,  307,  308,  309,  310,  312,  313,  354 

Sage,  the,  mere  presence  of  paralyses  destiny,  306 

Sage,  the,  intervenes  in  numberless  tragedies,  314 

Secrets,  strange,  pass  between  people  on  first  meeting,  n 

Secrets,  nature's  revealed  to  women,  275 

Shadow,  the,  thrown  by  man  and  things,  image  of  mightier  shadow, 

Siegfried,  360 

Silence,  154,  155,  156,  137,  158,  159,  160,  161,  162,  163, 164, 165,  166, 

167,  169,  170,  171,  173, 174,  175,  176 
Skies,  whatever  we  take  from  the,  we  find  again  in  heart  of  man,  76 

281 


Index 

Sleep,  39 

Socrates,  49,  204,  309,  311,  314 

Sorrow,  the  greater  our  love  the  greater  the  surface  we  expose  to 

majestic,  305 

Sorrow,  the  man  who  becomes  wise  through,  an 
Sorrow,  a,  your  soul  has  changed  into  sweetness,  21 
Soul,  her  ignorance  of  our  actions,  9 
Soul,  awakening  of,  14, 15 

Soul,  consciousness  of,  when  with  most  ordinary  persons,  8 
Soul,  the,  shows  in  our  eyes,  25 
Soul,  the,  that  is  misunderstood,  34 

Soul,  the,  of  a  convict  shall  commune  with  soul  of  a  virgin,  176 
Soul,  the  silence  of  human,  177 
Soul,  the  unconsciously  beautiful,  better  than  the  one  that  display! 

itself,  233 

Soul,  the,  God  most  beautiful  desire  of,  239,  261 
Space,  301 

Spirit,  too  much  importance  given  to  its  triumph  over  body,  61 
Streams,  the.  two,  symbols  of  man's  destiny,  189 
Swedenborg's  Paradise,  200 

TEARS,  192 

Tears  have  no  colour  in  themselves,  57 

Theatre,  the,  anachronism  of,  346,  348 

Theatre,  the  static,  345 

Thinker,  the,  we  forget  indebtedness  of,  to  inert  forces,  46 

Thinker,  the,  danger  of  over-valuing,  47 

Thought,  profoundest  of  no  avail  if  it  contains  no  germ  of  com- 
fort, 20 

Thought,  the  humble  that  connects  happiness  with  something 
eternal  of  more  value  than  gloom,  22 

Thought,  a,  difference  between,  and  a  deed,  144 

Thought,  our  secret,  172 

Thought,  a  beautiful,  more  beautiful  when  others  admire  it,  232 

Thought,  a  good,  denied  outlet  fills  the  soul,  151 

Thought,  a  beautiful,  must  never  be  kept  back,  238,  240 

Thought,  a,  may  be  deceptive  but  not  the  love  wherewith  we  have 
loved  it,  264 

Thoughts,  noble,  to  every  man  there  come,  that  cross  his  heart 
like  great  white  birds,  6 

Time,  a  mystery  we  have  divided  into  past  and  future,  308 

To-day,  wider  knowledge  than  yesterday,  38 

Tragedy  is  paralysed  by  the  presence  of  the  sage,  314 

Treasure,  45 

Truth,  intimate,  of  the  universe  must  be  pre-eminently  admirable 
to  man,  50 

Truth,  a  disheartening,  of  more  value  than  stimulating  falsehoods, 

Truth,  period  in  life  when  we  value  it  more  than  the  wonderful, 
69 

UNCONSCIOUSNESS,  208 

VACANCY,  all  in  our  hearts  filled  with  fatal  influence,  142 

Vice,  more  certain  to  be  punished  than  virtue  to  be  rewarded,  149 

282 


Index 

Virtue,  139,  149,  152,  zai,  324 

Virtue,  in  a  morbid,  there  is  more  harm  than  in  healthy  rice,  147 

WANTONS,  even  the  lowest  of,  possess  that  which  men  never  have, 

379 
Wayfarer,  the,  of  life,  becomes  more  and  more  conscious  of  depth 

of  humblest  laws,  44 
Wicked,  the,  seek  uplifting  of  soul,  148 
Wisdom,  194,  195,  197,  202,  263 

Wisdom  and  reason,  201,  203,  205,  206,  209,  210,  211,  212,  213,  914,  315 
Wisdom  the  lamp  of  love,  198,  200 
Women,  246,  270,  271,  272,  273,  274,  277,  279,  280,  282,  308 
Women,  some  of  nature's  strangest  secrets  often  revealed  to,  375 
Women,  all,  have  communication  with  the  infinite  unknown  to 

men,  276 

Women,  more  swayed  by  destiny  than  men,  280 
Words,  a  species  of  mirror,  16 
Words,  10 

World,  vastness  of  the,  compared  with  our  thoughts, 
'  Wuthering  Heights,'  340,  341 


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